Dark Side
by zaraX
Summary: Katniss joins the Careers in the 74th Hunger Games and develops feelings for her ally, Cato, in the process. They manage to form an (unstable) relationship that is put to the test when the Capitol intervenes, manipulating Cato's thoughts and actions in order to harm the Mockingjay.
1. Blues

**Cato**

My fist satisfying slams into the bag again, bringing a slightly stinging yet familiar sensation shooting up my wrist. If it wasn't for the stupid _lover boy_, she wouldn't be so famous. She wouldn't have the spotlight and all that undeserved attention. The thought of her grinning like an idiot and catching roses from the audience make my stomach churn. Her innocence has no place here, and the artificial flames she wore did nothing to mask it.

I shake my head, clearing out the thoughts, and give the bag a few final punches. If only this were an actual person…

After once again banishing the image of her overenthusiastic and determined smile, I decide to drop everything and head back to the apartment. I can't overexert myself when the Games are only a day away.

Unsurprisingly, a knife whizzes only millimeters by my head right when I step inside. It sticks in the soft, velvet-lined wall behind me with a soft _thump_. I turn from looking at the knife to the ferocious black eyes of Enobaria.

"Where have you been all morning? We've been looking for you." The way she says it makes me feel like I'm some sort of burden. She hates her job – that much is obvious.

"Training room," I mutter, trying to push my way past her. But she just stops me. "We have a problem," she growls, "And it's your fault."

Clove snorts and says "More like Girl on Fire's fault."

I turn to face her, hoping that my anxiety can be hidden in an indifferent tone. "Problem? What happened?"

"We barely got any sponsors this year," says Enobaria, "And the ones we managed to scrape up will only give us a small amount of funds. They're calling you two the 'weak' tributes of the year and are all flocking to the Twelve kids faster than Silufsha does to new _Flickerman Approved! Hair Dye._ "

"We don't need sponsors," I snap at her. "We've got the Cornucopia. Plenty of supplies there."

"Stupid boy," Enobaria spits out. "Don't you understand? The less sponsors we have, the more sponsors _Coal girl_ has."

"Her lame-name is 'Fire girl'" Clove corrects, lazily stretching out across the couch. She smirks, knowing how well her careless attitude infuriates Enobaria.

"That's not all," Enobaria narrows her eyes at me. "District 4 tributes have cut their alliance."

It takes me a moment to register what she's saying.

"What? Are they insane?"

"It's because Fire girl and Lover Boy are pulling them away. They're getting all the attention, you know that." Clove says.

"I know, but that girl is..." I struggle to find words to describe her, "She's weak. She's a nobody."

Enobaria's eyes turn a shade darker. "It's too late to call her that," she says angrily, "After that show she put on with her partner in the interviews, she's got a story stronger than all of you combined. And you aren't doing anything about it. The Fire Girl and Lover Boy are creating a romance that the Capitol is somehow addicted to and you're just sitting around—"

I clench my fists, wanting to knock her golden tipped teeth right out of her mouth. "I've been training!" I interrupt, "I've actually been working, and _not_ trying to get involved in some pathetic relationship!"

She barely flinches. "Training won't do you any good at this point. Start _thinking._" she advises. "You need to bring an end to the romance. Make the Capitol lose interest, draw attention to yourself, or distract the girl. Just do _something_ to make sure those dirty faced tributes don't win."

**Katniss**

"So what about the Careers?" I question Haymitch, who's taking a generous gulp of wine. "What should I do when it comes to them?"

"Sweetheart," he hiccups, "The best thing to do is to…" he slurs. "to stay away from them, alright?"

"Haymitch!" Effie reprimands, "Could you at least stay sober just for a few hours? I mean-"

He laughed bitterly, "Ef-hic- I take sobriety as seriously as I take your oversized, plastically created-"

"Okaaay!" Peeta clears his throat, and I give him a silent nod of thanks, "You were saying, Effie?"

She sighs, "Haymitch, these children are asking for advice and you have the responsibility of giving it to them! Now if you don't do your job properly, then…" she pauses, trying to think of the right thing to say. "Then they might not have a good chance of going back home!"

Haymitch starts laughing rowdily at this. Even I let out a (not so feminine) snort- Effie's trying to be too soft on us. And it isn't working.

"Not that they will, anyway," Haymitch continues, and shifts in his seat to face Peeta and I. "You. Yeah, you two... don't expect to live for more than a few days. If the Careers don't get you, then sickness, starvation or dehydration will."

I stare down at my half empty plate, wondering how hard this could really be. Haymitch makes the Career tributes sound like they're completely heartless monsters who hate us. Well, they probably are, judging from the way they stared at us during the chariot ride. Green eyes had shot me venomous stares. Browns judged my every movement, black ones calculated how to most effieciently kill me within the first five minutes of the Game, and blues had pierced mine like frozen daggers.

"I'm not hungry anymore." Peeta mumbles, and stands up to go to his room.

"Same." I say. I give Peeta a look of understanding. We don't want to be told that we'll be killed. It's sickening enough, knowing the fact that we'll have to fight twenty two other tributes to the death. Yes, I can face reality, but I don't need reminders at the moment.

We tell Effie and Haymitch goodnight, and leave them to their incessant bickering.

Peeta and I walk back to our rooms which are right next to each other, but before I go inside I stop myself, remembering what I had done earlier. I notice his hand is wrapped in bandages. Another wave of guilt crashes through me. None of this was his fault.

"Look, I'm sorry for going out at you. I guess I was just really angry at first because I thought that you saying you loved me would make me look weak," I give him an apologetic smile, hoping he'll understand.

"It's alright," he says gently. He holds my hand in his, and for a moment, I'm locked onto his blue eyes. So much kinder and gentler than the icy ones of the District Two boy.

"Haymitch is right," he continues, "Love isn't something that shows weakness. It just makes you more desirable."

In that moment, all I can see is the boy who saved me, the boy with the bread on that rainy, fateful day. He had given me hope. That's something I will always remember him for.

I allow myself to wonder how much of the story is true. Peeta was right in a few ways during that interview. And then, my mind begins to wonder, what if it's _all_ true? A dangerous thought- though not impossible.

Before I can speculate any more, he places his hand on my cheek. He has suddenly leaned in closer to me. His long, blonde lashes are mere inches from my own, and I take in a sharp breath, realizing what's happening.

"No, I—I can't." I push him away. "Sorry."

"What?" he says in surprise.

"Peeta…" I don't understand what's going on. I stare down at the ground, still feeling uncomfortable at how close we are. I take a step back, "Just go," I rush, "I—I'll see you tomorrow." And with that, I turn and stride towards the elevator. I honestly don't know where I'm going. I just don't want to stay around him any longer. I need to clear out, find someplace to think, someplace without distractions. I jab the button that'll take me to the roof, where it's quiet and where no one will find me.

Once I get there, I inhale and exhale, trying to calm myself down. What just happened was too much. Peeta had gone too far. No, this was an _act_. Was he crazy? Or was he just going too far with the love concept?

No, maybe it's easier to pretend that he just had a moment where he forgot what he was doing. I can't afford to think about feelings. _Feelings!_ This is the Hunger Games, and no amount of emotion will truly be able to save me!

The small sound of a door shutting interrupts my thoughts. I whip around, ready to tell Peeta to leave me alone, when I notice that nobody is there. I cautiously walk over to the door and shut it carefully. Maybe it was the wind. But no, it couldn't have been, because I definitely shut the door beforehand.

I walk to the other side of the roof, which is obscured by some sort of divider. I take slow steps, heel toe, heel toe, making sure that they don't hear me. And once I'm on the other side, I see him.

"What.. what are you doing here Peeta?" I try to keep my voice calm, even though it shakes ever so slightly. I'm not in the mood for another awkward conversation, but it has to be done before he takes things too seriously. Before the Games.

He turns around, and all I can do was stand in shock as I recognize the blue eyes. A few inches taller than Peeta with short blond hair and a look of surprise that quickly turns into his signature smirk. The same person who I tried my best not to stare at during the chariot ride, but failed miserably in doing.

Blues again.

**Cato**

Annoyed at Enobaria and Clove, I decide to go up to the roof. It's always a good place for me to cool off, get some fresh air and think. Or "plot", as Enobaria had wanted me to do.

I slip through the door and go to the other side of the roof, where I can get a good view of the mansion Snow lives in. Maybe if I stare at it hard enough it might burst into flames. I smirk at the thought of our President stuck in a fire. That would entertaining.

I hear footsteps behind me. My body stiffens, and I listen to the eerie quietness of the footsteps. Too quiet. It's the sound of a hunter's footsteps.

"What… what are you doing here Peeta?" A girl's voice says. I turn around quickly, and realize who I'm facing.

Fire Girl?

What are the chances Fire girl and I would be up here at the same time?

The next sentence is easy. It's something I've been waiting to say, waiting until I met her personally. "Well well well, if it isn't the Girl on Fire." I can't help but let the sarcasm in my voice. God, I'm really starting to hate that name. But what else would I call her? I barely know what her name is. Something like catnip...

"What are you doing here?" she repeats accusingly, although she has a skeptical look on her face. I realize that she looks completely worn out. I suppose it's normal for her. She probably looks this bad every day.

Something tells me I should leave, and not linger around to talk to some filthy Twelve girl, even if she is the suddenly famous tribute. But curiosity makes me stay. I experimentally take a step closer and she immediately steps back, folding her arms across her chest.

Hmm. Maybe Enobaria was onto something. This game could be easier to play than I had originally thought.

"Me being up here is none of your business, Twelve. Anyway, I wouldn't go around demanding answers from people right before the Games. You might…upset them," I keep my voice low and feel a spread of satisfaction when she cringes.

"You wouldn't dare hurt me," she challenges, confidently staring back up at me. Her gray eyes pierce through mine angrily, and a little annoying voice in my head points out how maybe she doesn't look so weak after all. Not like this, when she's so riled up. I see why they call her the Girl on Fire. Not just because of her costume, but because of her fierce attitude.

For some reason it gives me a weird feeling inside. Girls don't usually look at me this…threateningly. They usually start blushing and stammering like idiots, but I get the feeling Fire Girl here is different. Maybe she isn't the lovesick girl I thought she was after all.

Damn it, I can't think that. I have to keep pretending she's another slow, stupid creature in my way of becoming the victor. Fame doesn't mean anything unless you've earned it, and she definitely hasn't earned any bit of what she has right now.

But she's still staring at me with that undeniable intensity that makes me doubt my own thoughts, and I hate it. No, I hate _her_.

**Katniss**

"What makes you think that?" he asks with a predatory glint in his eye, but he tilts his head innocently. "Trying to reassure yourself of something, Twelve?"

He's slowly advancing towards me, the corners of his lips are tugging up in a smirk. He knows what I must be feeling. He wants to expose my vulnerability, but I firmly tell myself that I won't.

"I don't need to reassure myself of anything," I say, conjuring up as much confidence as possible. I can tell what this is. It's the typical who's-the-killer-and-who's-the-victim game Haymitch told me about. And I thought I had lucked out on not having a faceoff with anyone…

He stops when he's close. Uncomfortably so. My heart beats against my chest rapidly, "And I'm not scared of you," I say firmly, "Because you can't do anything to me." It's true. Rules are rules, and if I limp back to my room with a broken ankle, all I have to do is tell Haymitch to tell the Gamemakers to check the cameras. The proof will be there.

His glacial eyes darken a shade and I start shrinking back, but his hand suddenly flies to my arm and grips it tightly, pulling me towards him. I yelp quickly. My bones feel like they're about to snap and my skin crackles with electricity. I stare back into his eyes defiantly.

"Yet," he hisses, "I can't hurt you..._yet."_

Something about the way he's so controlled in his anger surprises me. Haymitch had told me to expect outbursts of yelling but instead, he just looks dangerously calm.

"Get away from me," I manage to say, though it's hard to form the words when he's so close. Closer than Peeta was, yet ten times farther. I can see every detail of his face. Light colored skin, smooth, slightly pointed features, killer eyes and an over-confident smirk. Obviously the lesson 'don't judge a book by it's cover' doesn't work on this boy.

He's an open book, anyway.

"Scared, aren't you?" he murmurs. He shifts to whisper in my ear, as if telling me top secret information. I stiffen but still can't move. "And I thought the Girl on Fire was so _brave_, so _fearless," _he chuckles.

"Maybe I am," I say.

He leans back as if to study me. His gaze flickers between my eyes and my lips, and for half a second it's deadly silent except for the distant sounds of the city below us.

Finally, he lets go of my arm and I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. I try to square my shoulders and regain my composure, glaring at him and rubbing my arm, "Look, I don't care whether or not—"

"Shut up, Twelve," he growls, and I flinch at his sudden harsh tone. "If you really think you can make it out of the Games, you're wrong. I'm obviously the only damn tribute around here who can actually kill, because you're too much of a fucking wimp to even—"

"Don't call me that," I say, crossing my arms defensively. "You don't know anything about me, so _don't _think you have the right to insult me."

He mimics me, folding his arms across his chest as well and tilting his head critically, "Trust me, I know enough about you. Girl from Twelve. Half-starved her whole life. Lucky to get a good stylist this year but obviously soft enough to fall enough with her District partner…" he ticks off the list and then trails off, smirking, "I know enough."

"Well I'm glad to see you're as stereotypical as all the other tributes out there," I reply with irritation, "Maybe it'll make it easier for me to go by unnoticed until I'm the last one left." I abruptly turn around, making sure to toss my hair over my shoulder, and stride towards the door that'll take me back to the elevator.

"Going so soon, Fire Girl?" he calls tauntingly.

"The name is Katniss," I reply, seething, "Katniss Everdeen, District Twelve, where we export coal for rich, lazy, cheating bastards like you, and work hard so others can live in luxury. But we're strong for that reason. I'm strong because I've _suffered. _So call me 'Fire Girl', or whatever stupid name the Capitol makes for me, but my name is _Katniss Everdeen._ Remember that."

I slam the door behind me.


	2. The Art of Backstabbing

**Cato**

"So you're saying you saw her last night, and didn't even send her a punch?" Clove says, looking astounded. She absentmindedly plays with her knife as she mulls over my recount of what happened last night. Of course, I didn't tell her everything. Just enough to let her know that Twelve was another useless Tribute.

"No, but I think I scared her well enough," I snort, "Anyways, don't worry. Killing her won't be so hard. She's weak, skinny and untrained. Just like the rest of them."

_No, not really, _something in the back of my mind whispers.

"You think it'll be that easy, huh?" Enobaria asks grinning with her abnormally sharp teeth. "Have you seen her in training? She's not what you think she'd be like."

"You think I would watch a District 12 girl during training? That's just shameful."

But Enobaria dismisses my comment, "Well other tributes are watching, you aren't. That might be something you should fix before you go into the Games."

"I've seen her," I say through gritted teeth, "And all I saw was weakness. Not only in her, but in everyone else, which will make it easier for me to win."

Clove clears her throat from the couch, and we both glance at her. She raises an eyebrow and says "Forgotten about me already? Stop acting like I don't have a chance, just because I'm not obsessive— "

"I am _not_ obsessed with training," I snap.

"Of course," Clove rolls her eyes, "You just stay in the training room until your hands are raw and you collapse from exhaustion because you want to. Because that's what we all do, isn't it?"

I scowl at her and turn back to Enobaria, who's still studying me like I'm some piece of meat. Her lips are twisted in some sort of sneer and she's inspecting me carefully.

"You know, before you go into the arena, I should give you a real piece of advice," she snarls, clearly annoyed from having to put up with the incessant bickering.

"Really?" I arch an eyebrow, "What is it?" But I don't care. She can say whatever she wants to say, but it won't help. I've been training for the Games ever since I was five. All that training will help me get to victory, but a few words from a mentor won't.

"Start getting along with other tributes," Enobaria says, "Especially the Career tributes. If all they see in you is a ruthless killing machine, they will be less likely to ally with you. No one likes a tribute with a bad attitude."

Well _she's _one to talk.

"But the Career pack is set," I say, "It's always made of the tributes from 1, 2, and 4. I don't need to _get along with them_. They have no other choice."

"Yes, they do," Enobaria cuts in. "Do you not remember the tributes from 4?"

Oh, right. Them. I'll have to take care of them personally. Fucking retards messing up my plan.

"What I'm really saying is that you can't be a backstabber unless they trust you," Enobaria says with a toothy grin. This idea must really appeal to her, but I'm not surprised. Everyone victor has their own tactic, and she clearly doubts that strength alone will get me through the Games.

Before I can retort, Clove abruptly gets up from the couch, "Right, we've got it," she says, "Now, let's go to that tribute breakfast, Cato. Maybe we can talk to those District 4 kids." She throws me a meaningful glare, and I know the only way that we can get Enobaria to shut up is if we're the ones to leave first.

Reluctantly, I agree with her to go to the breakfast station. This whole breakfast idea sounds beyond stupid, but maybe Clove's right. This could be my chance to talk to those District 4 tributes and knock some sense back into their empty brains.

"Be friendly," Enobaria warns.

"Yes, mother," I mock in a sweet tone, "Would you like me to bake some cookies for them too?"

"Get out," she scowls, and I gladly do so, slamming the door behind me.

* * *

When I walk into the cafeteria, I locate them instantly. They're sitting by themselves. _Well, this will be easy_, I think to myself as I make my way over to them, ditching Clove. She frowns at me for a moment, but then goes to sit down with Marvel. Good. I don't need her messing things up.

The boy looks up with wide eyes as I stop by their table. "Cato! Uh, hey! What's up?" he asks nervously. He's probably about fifteen, and not very big. Easy target.

"I want to know why you won't be joining our group this year," I say coldly.

"We want to be allies with Katniss," the girl pipes up. _Katniss._ Her name makes me mad enough. Ryan, the boy, elbows her and gives her a look of panic. Good, they know who the leader really is here.

"We're thinking about it," the girl corrects herself.

"And why would you do that?" I ask seething. But instead of answering my question, the boy lifts his hand up in defense. "We aren't the only ones," he says. The girl nods in agreement.

"What are you talking about?" I say. Who else would possibly want that impossible Twelve girl as an ally?

"Marvel was also considering it," he shrugs, "She's good. Have you seen her in archery? She can shoot a target like—"

"I don't care," I say, "And if I were you, I would reconsider that thought. Fire Girl isn't going to last long. And once she's gone, you two, and possibly the Marvel kid, will be left to fend for yourselves. So think again."

"Well, unless you're planning on having Katniss in the alliance, we won't we'll be joining this year," the girl says.

_Katniss in the alliance_. That would be almost unforgivable.

"Well that's just so fucking _brave_ of you, isn't it?" I spit out, and they flinch. The girl twists her hands in her lap and they boy only stares down at the table, mumbling something incomprehensible.

"Speak up, fish boy," I say.

"I said it wouldn't hurt to have her in the alliance. Maybe if we all work together, we can get more accomplished."

Enobaria's words ring through my head like a reminder. _You can't be a backstabber unless they trust you._ I turn to look at the Fire girl, who's seated next to her lover boy at the moment. Would it really be possible…?

For a brief moment I imagine what it would be like to stand along with her and kill other tributes. I wonder if it would work. I wonder if we could be undefeatable.

If she did join, all I would have to do is wait for the perfect time, preferably when she's sleeping, to kill her off. Plus, I would get more sponsors just for being allied with her and I would have Marvel and the District 4 tributes on my side.

But I can't have her. She's… a _Twelve_ Tribute. They've never been in our alliances before. Maybe the Eleven kid, or even that boy from Three. But Twelve? What the hell am I thinking?

I let my eyes wander back to her table again, and she's determinedly staring down at her food as if it were the most interesting thing in the room. Anti-social freak.

Last night was different, true. Her spiky attitude really confused me. Attitude can't win the Games, though, so why am I considering this?

"Cato?" the girl asks tentatively.

I find myself muttering "I'll think about it." A look of genuine surprise crosses their faces, and I'm sure their expressions mirror mine.

Fuck, what did I just agree to?

"But until then," I add hastily, "don't even try to make any more plans by yourselves. Anything you do and anything you think of will have to be approved by me. Is that clear?"

They nod quickly and agree. "Thanks, Cato," the girl says smiling.

"Whatever," I growl, and walk away from them feeling agitated by their hopeful smiles and positive energy. How can they be so intent on having Twelve? They don't even know her. I wouldn't care about her either, but now that she's suddenly so popular…

I don't know what to do.

* * *

**Katniss**

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" an excited voice squeals.

I groan and roll out of bed, cursing Effie's energy. Not sleeping last night was a bad decision. Especially the encounter with Cato kept flashing across my mind. I hate that I'll have to face him in the arena. My best choice would probably be to run from the Careers and take refuge in the trees, if there will be any.

I take a shower which instantly reenergizes me. I make sure to avoid the fancy ridiculous buttons that spit out intoxicating bubbles. The luxury of the Capitol is almost mocking me, like they want me to experience the best right before I get sentenced to death.

But maybe I can make it back. Would it really be so hard to win, or survive, the Hunger Games? All I would have to do is avoid the Careers, maybe make a good alliance with someone, hope there's a forest, and get my hands on a bow and some arrows. I already have sponsors lined up and waiting to send gifts to me while I'm in the arena. So maybe with some luck, I could win.

I glumly realize that I can't get my hopes up.

I sigh, and step out of the shower. I wonder what Haymitch will be trying to help us with today. There usually isn't a break before the interviews and the Games, but there's been a problem with the arena. The Gamemakers are hurriedly trying to fix it while President Snow is probably fuming with rage. Well, an extra day means one more day of life, so I gladly welcome the delay.

After I change into some clothes I pick from my closet, I find Peeta, Haymitch and Effie at the breakfast bar, apparently waiting for me. I avoid Peeta's stare and feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Hopefully he got the message last night and won't talk to me about it again.

"Hey," Haymitch says gruffly as I reach for a piece of toast, "Don't eat that. You're supposed to go to the cafeteria for some breakfast thing."

"Oh." I say disappointed, placing the toast back on the plate. Great, that means I'll have to see all the faces of my opponents again. That means I'll have to see _him._

"Any news?" I ask.

Haymitch shakes his head. "No news about the arena problem, but there is something interesting going on with the Careers this year."

"What is it?" Peeta and I ask simultaneously. There's never a problem with the Career tributes. Though if there is, then I could use it to my advantage. Any breaks and disruptions in their meticulous killing system could save my life.

"The District 4 tributes aren't so keen on being in the alliance this year, from what I've heard from their mentors," says Haymitch, "They say they want you, Katniss, as an ally."

At first I think he's joking, but his face remains serious. His eyes bore into mine, and there's a brief flicker of curiosity.

"Wait, wh-what?!" I finally sputter in disbelief, "They—they want to ally with me?"

Why would a pair of would-be Career tributes want to have _me_ as an ally? Have they gone mad?

Before Haymitch can reply, I shake my head, "No, I won't do it," I say firmly. This can't be true. Plus, I can't do alliances. I can't just trust someone and place my life on the line.

"Don't jump to conclusions sweetheart," Haymitch says sternly. He seems to have sobered up, because he's actually discussing the situation instead of leaving it to Peeta and I to handle. "They could be helpful. And if they're breaking apart from the Careers, then maybe it means that they want to steer clear of them, and so do you."

"Yes," I admit, "But still. I want to work alone. They only want me because of my score, and I can't count on people like that."

"Stop being stubborn. You can't always do things on your own."

"I said I can handle it, Haymitch," I say annoyed. What, does he not trust me? "Do I look like I need allies?"

Haymitch huffs with exasperation. "Fine, have it your way for now. But you'll see tomorrow. You're going to want allies." He stomps off, probably in search of some liquor.

Peeta sighs, "There's no use in arguing, Katniss. Come on, let's go to that breakfast."

"Fine," I say crossly, "But I won't talk to those Careers. I won't talk to _any_ Careers."

"I'm not asking you to," he says giving me a soft smile. "Come on, let's go."

I nod in consent, and we both go to the cafeteria and have a rather boring and uneventful breakfast. I don't even bother to make eye contact with anyone. _I can do this myself._ I think, _No need for allies. _Thankfully, no one comes to our table to talk to us. Peeta and I remain in an awkward silence all throughout the meal, taking in the chatter and conversations around us.

Even though I keep my eyes lowered and focused on my food, I can't help but feel a pair of eyes watching me. The stare seems to weigh me down and I shiver, wondering if it's Cato. But I don't dare look up.

* * *

**Cato**

Later on that day, I'm back at the training center. Training sessions are over, since we'll be going into the Games tomorrow, but I've been allowed in thanks to some _convincing _(which might have included a few threats). The only way I can figure out what I'm going to do is if I find something to punch. Or something to slash with my sword.

I can't help but think about the girl from Twelve. I have to admit, she was different than I thought she would be. When I met her up on the roof last night, she was fierce, stubborn, and definitely a fighter. Everything about her said it. She was so demanding and intent on getting an answer from me. She was on the top of my kill list.

And now I actually might let her in because she could be valuable. Once she's served her purpose, of course, I'd kill her off too.

A creaking noise interrupts my thoughts. I freeze mid-throw, turn around and see her standing at the doorway. An alarmed look flashes across her face when she sees me. I almost drop the spear in surprise too.

"What are you doing here?" I say coldly. She should know better than to come in here while I'm training.

"I saw the door unlocked so I let myself in," she says keeping her eyes down, focused on the floor. She crosses her arms. "I—I didn't know you were in here," she stammers.

Well, this situation looks familiar. It's always amusing to see how afraid the other tributes are of me. I guess I've earned a bad reputation.

"So. Where's Lover Boy?" I ask her, breaking the silence while sharpening my spear with a knife and eyeing her out of the corner of my eye.

A look of confusion crosses over her face. "Who?" she asks all too innocently.

I roll my eyes at her, "Your district partner. Where is he? Doesn't he tag along with you everywhere you go? I've seen him, the way he looks at you makes him look like some sort of drooling puppy."

"No, he doesn't follow me," her face reddens, "And he's not here. Well, nowhere near here anyway."

Hmm, guess these lovebirds aren't as close as I thought they would be. This is good news. I only want her in the alliance, not Lover Boy, so if she could handle the separation without going all lovesick-girl, then things could work out.

I set the sharpening knife down, and throw the spear at a dummy. It hits it in the chest with a _thud_. The girl flinches but doesn't do much other than that. It seems like she's waiting for me to say something.

I voice my plans, but only a part of them. I'm not letting her in on my full plans…yet. I want to keep her guessing. "Well, I don't think he'll be anywhere near you tomorrow, either," I say. It's true, Lover Boy will hopefully be dead after the bloodbath, or he'll have escaped into the woods.

She only looks confused again, but then narrows her grey eyes at me. "I don't know what you're talking about," she says. Funny how suspicious she sounds. It's like she automatically distrusts me.

"You'll see," I say casually.

"Then I'd better not waste my time talking to you if you aren't going to give me answers," she huffs, walking over to pick up a bow and sheath of arrows.

I watch her interestedly. She strings an arrow, pulls it back, and releases it. It hits the bulls-eye that's twenty feet away. I'm shocked. I've heard about her archery skills, but I hadn't actually seen her shoot until now.

I have to admit, she's pretty good. Of course, I would never say it aloud. She shoots another arrow hitting it again. And she shoots again, and again, and again, until she's out of arrows. Perfect aim.

Maybe it isn't such a bad idea to have her in the alliance after all.

She looks at me with her defiant gaze. "Surprised?" she says tilting her head to the side, obviously waiting for my reaction.

"Mediocre. I've seen better," I say sounding unimpressed.

"Well I've done better," she says in a bored tone, mimicking me and making a face.

"Shut up if you know what's good for you, Twelve," I warn her. Her attitude is infuriating. How does Lover Boy stand it? She's almost as bad as Clove. And she actually has the nerve to talk back to me. I slash at a dummy in front of me with my sword, hacking it to bits. I can't let her words distract me.

She cringes a little as I practice, but then says "You can't tell me what to do. Just because you're from District Two doesn't mean I'm scared of you, although you're just as arrogant and cocky as I'd expected you to be."

Her bold statement surprises me for a moment. She's accusing me of acting like I'm better than she is..just because I'm from a different District. So that's what goes on through the minds of the lower District tributes? _That's _how they see us?

"Oh really? Because I actually thought I was so humble and kind and loving." I say sarcastically.

She only glares at me and goes over to the target to collect her arrows. She moves the target farther away from her. She shoots all her arrows again and maintains her perfect aim.

"Still mediocre?"

I shrug, "Just because you're alright with a bow and arrow doesn't mean you'll get anywhere in the Games."

"So you'll admit that I'm good?" she questions.

"I never said you were good at anything, Twelve," I say gritting my teeth and wishing I could just run my sword through her now, instead of having to listen to her ramble, " What I'm saying is that the _real_ fight is in hand-to-hand combat, and it looks like you need some practice in that."

What good will her arrows be when she comes across a tough opponent? She'll just be tackled to the ground and get beaten up. Probably killed if the opponent has a knife on them. Her weak and skinny frame doesn't help either.

"I'm not that bad," she scowls, but I can detect the doubt in her voice. She's bluffing. There's no way she could win a wrestling match, unless it's with that small girl from District 11.

"Really?" I raise an eyebrow at her. She keeps her chin up and nods. Well, there's only one way to attest to that.

"Come here," I say to her. That throws her off guard.

"What?" she says. I smirk at her surprised face.

"I said come here."

She walks over hesitantly, stopping just a few feet away from me. "What do you want?" she says defensively.

"Punch me," I say. I wait for her to do so, but she doesn't.

"Why?" she say, puzzled at my random command.

"Do you always ask so many questions?" I say exasperated. "Just do it."

She seems to consider it for a moment, and then lifts her fist and weakly attempts to punch me. I easily catch her fist and I hold it inches from my face, even though I know it wouldn't have done any damage anyway.

"Tsk, tsk. Looks like you need to do some more training if that's the best you've got," I say shaking my head mockingly. I drop her fist and watch with satisfaction as she rubs it a little, wincing.

"Wrestling isn't exactly my strength," she says, her voice a cutting edge. "I'll stick with my bow."

"And if someone happens to knock you down in the Games?" I question.

She glares at me again. "Why do you care?" she demands. "I don't need your opinion, anyway, you—"

In an instant, I've grabbed her arm and slammed her down, nailing her on the ground. She tries to squirm out of my grasp, but I use my arms to pin her down and keep her still.

"Let- go… get- off- of me! Please!" she says, still struggling. I almost laugh at her attempt. The feisty Fire Girl is trapped, and she thinks she'll get away with a _please_?

She finally stops squirming, and instead just glares up at me, panting heavily. Her short, warm puffs of air fan my face and I try to ignore the unfamiliar tingling that runs up my spine. Fuck, what is wrong with her? I move my hands so that they aren't touching her bare arms, and grip her shoulders instead.

"Not that I do care," I murmur, leaning in closer to her face. "But I'm just saying… this could happen tomorrow, and you don't seem ready for it. Obviously, you were lying." Her grey eyes are so close to mine, I can see every detail. I can also see all the anger they contain.

"Well I'll be sure not to get into this situation then," she says sourly. "Now let me go!"

"Nice try," I say, but I decide to let go of her anyway. If she decides to be sneaky and claim that I've hurt her before the Games, I could be disqualified.

She angrily walks away, probably embarrassed. "I need to leave," she declares, slamming her bow onto the rack with a _clang._

"Oh, please do," I say grinning, pleased with her annoyance, "I have better things to do than to talk to a lousy Twelve tribute."

She scowls at me and storms out of the room with a flip of her braid, muttering something under her breath.

* * *

**Katniss**

"Are you alright?" Peeta asks, obviously concerned.

It seems as if we've both forgotten about last night's awkward event. Thank goodness, I'm in no mood to talk about it.

"I'm fine," I say brushing him off. I don't need to talk to him right now, because I certainly don't need to mention my encounter with Cato.

"Okay," Peeta shrugs, "Just trying to help. You seem a bit flustered, that's all."

If possible, I feel my cheeks flush even more. Is it that obvious?

"Really, I'm alright," I insist, even though I'm not. Spending a few minutes with Cato Carleton wasn't such a good idea. I'm still confused over his suspiciously calm demeanor, especially when he's so popular for being an angry jerk to everyone.

Then the memory of him hovering over me while I was helplessly pinned down underneath him comes to mind, and I can't help but wonder why I felt butterflies in my stomach when it happened. Probably because I thought he was going to kill me right then. Yes, that was definitely why.

I decide to ask Peeta something that's been on my mind ever since this morning. "Peeta, would you want to join the Careers if you could?"

Peeta pauses for a moment to think. "No. I mean, I might do it for a day or so, just to stay safe, but I wouldn't stay any longer than that. They're dangerous… especially that District 2 guy, Cato."

I shiver a little at the mention of Cato's name. If only Peeta knew that I had just been with him in the training center, alone.

"Why?" Peeta asks, looking curious. "Are you thinking about Haymitch's idea?"

"No! Um, I was just wondering," I say quickly. I don't know why I don't want to tell Peeta about meeting Cato again. Maybe it's because Peeta will be angry that I talked to Cato in the first place. Sometimes Peeta acts like an overprotective father, always making sure that I do what's best for me. It does get annoying though, because sometimes he doesn't seem to understand that I just want some independence.

"Oh, okay," Peeta says, and yawns. "You should get some rest for the Games tomorrow."

"Mhm" I murmur, not really paying attention. I don't feel like sleeping because it's still early. Instead I decided to go lie down on the couch and watch some of the Capitol programs, which are very dramatic and overdone, but they take my mind off of things. There's a show about two people falling in love, but they both live on opposite sides of the Earth. It reminds me of the star-crossed lovers act I have to keep up with, and I instantly switch to a different channel, not wanting to watch any more of the sappy stuff.

The TV's noise eventually lulls me to sleep. Sleep, the horrifying other dimension where the impossible becomes reality. I have scarily realistic dreams tonight, one in which I see Cato running towards me with a sword. I'm defenseless, and he tackles me to the ground. The weight of his body on top of mine nearly crushes me. My head begins to spin as he whispers "I told you that you weren't ready for this." I am mute as he plunges his sword into my stomach, and my world goes dark.


	3. Keep Calm and Kill On

**AN: **Okay, so I skipped ahead to the scene right before Katniss leaves. May as well cut to the action :)

.

I take a deep, steady breath as Cinna fastens my Mockingjay pin onto my jacket. He does it slowly. Carefully. But I know that he's only taking his time so we don't have to immediately say goodbye.

"Well," I say, finding my voice shakier than I had imagined it would be, "I'll…I'll see you soon, Cinna, when I come out of the arena."

The unspoken _if_ lingers in the room, but I have to remain positive.

"Yes, you will," he agrees, looking at me with that serene expression of his. I don't know how he can stay so calm at a time like this. But then again he's not the one heading to his death. He's just watching the model of his fire creation go into the Games. It's a melancholic feeling—having to spend hours of hard work of beautifying someone, and then watch as they are put into a death trap.

"Katniss... Remember the real reason you're doing this," he says softly. "Not to win, but to go home to go back to your family."

"I know," I hug him and he pats my shoulder comforting me.

"Now," he says pulling away and straightening my pin, "Make 'em proud. And just remember to trust your instincts, okay? I know you can do this."

"Okay," I murmur. The announcement for the tributes to step onto their plates comes on, and the glass tube opens up. I step inside and it immediately slides shut. I look around frantically, feeling like a trapped animal. But I see Cinna's calm expression and decide to follow his example. He smiles encouragingly at me and nods. I take 2 deep breaths before I'm lifted up into the arena.

The first thing I'm aware of is a piney scent. I lift my head and turn around, fully absorbing my surroundings.

We're in a grassy area next to a lake. On the right side of the arena there's a golden grain field. On the left, there's a forest. A forest! This is where I need to go. It's where I will have the best chance of survival.

I survey the tributes and the Cornucopia. I spot a bow and a sheath of arrows, and realize that those are the only ones in the Cornucopia. Or at least, the only ones visible. I need to get them.

But then I see Peeta. He's shaking his head at me, as if he's reading my thoughts and warning me not to go for the bow. But I have to. With a bow, I could kill all the tributes here. It would be so easy. I tell myself to ignore Peeta, he just doesn't know how much I need that bow.

10, 9, 8...

I'm set on sprinting for the bow and arrows, when suddenly I see Cato staring at me with an amused expression on his face. Wait, why is Cato looking at me? Is he trying to tell me something?

The gong sounds and I'm still plastered to my metal plate, wondering what was up with Cato.  
Move, _move_! I think to myself. Dammit, Cato! He made me lose a few extra seconds!

In confusion, I sprint off my plate and grab a backpack, slinging it over my shoulder. My eyes dart everywhere taking in the action around me. Tributes are dropping dead left and right, blood splattering everywhere. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone coming at me with a knife. I instinctively duck and the knife whizzes over my head. The tribute who tried to kill me suddenly sprouts a spear in his stomach, splattering me with blood.

I wipe the sticky red stuff off my face with the back of my hand and snap back to attention. The tribute has fallen over, dead, and I see Marvel grinning maniacally from behind him.

"Better run." His eyes are gleaming.

I don't need to be told twice. I run. I don't even try getting the bow anymore. I take off in the direction of the forest, but suddenly something stops me. No, not something, someone. A muscular pair of arms grabs me by the waist. I kick at my opponent, desperately clawing at his arms. I bang my head backwards and the back of my head slams into my opponents face, a grunt coming from him. The grip only tightens. But wait, these arms... They're familiar. No, it can't be.

I am whipped around to face the attacker. A pair of piercing blue eyes meets mine, and I almost scream. Instead, I choke out "Cato?"

He still wears the amused expression on his face, like he's been enjoying my suffering. "No, it's Peeta," he says sarcastically.

"Let me go!" I say angrily, but I realize that he's still holding his death grip on me. If only I had grabbed a knife! _This is it_, I think to myself, _he's going to kill me. _"Please," I find myself ridiculously whimpering. "Make it quick."

His eyes widen in surprise but then he returns to his smug look. "What, you think I'm going to kill you, Twelve?"

I stop panting for a second. "You.. aren't going to kill me?" Why wouldn't he? He pretty much foreshadowed my death yesterday while we were at the training center. Unless he's decided...

"I've decided you could join the alliance," he says carefully watching me. "If you want to." But I know that from the dangerous glint in his eye I don't have a choice. I can join, or be killed.

Just to test him, I say "What if I don't want to?" His face darkens, and his hand moves to the bottom of my throat. He squeezes is tight enough so that I gasp and I feel like my eyes are going to bulge out of my skull.

"Well if you aren't on our side," he whispers in a low voice, "Then you wouldn't be much use to us then, would you?"

I realize what this means. Cato is forcing me to be in his alliance. I'm basically being taken as prisoner. Of course, it isn't against the rules to do this, but it still feels so wrong.

What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?

I look around desperately for some sort of possible escape, weapons, someone to help me, _anything._ Anything but the choice to have to join them.

A hopeless feeling sinks into my chest as I realize that there's no other option. Cato must see the realization in my eyes because he smirks and shakes his head.

"Or do you have any other plans in mind, Twelve?" he asks mockingly.

My throat is really beginning to hurt now.

I suppose I could just die.

But I can't. I can't die within the first five minutes of the Games. No matter how much I despise the Careers…I have to join them. To survive. To fight for life.

I nod stiffly, managing to mouth an _okay._Cato's grip on me finally loosens and I gasp in a big lungful of air. He grabs my arm before I can say anything else, and hauls me back to the Cornucopia. I feel like a rag doll as he tosses me inside and tells me to stay put.

"Stay put". _Like I'm going anywhere_, I think bitterly to myself.

How did I get into this mess? Anyways, why does Cato even want me in his alliance? He had said that I was helpful, but I didn't think he'd go to the extent of having me fight in his precious pack. I should have run when I had the chance! Then I'd be safe in the woods, most likely up in the shelter of a tree. If only I had known about Cato's plans.

Hm, so that's what he meant yesterday when he said Peeta wasn't going to be near me in the Games. Peeta.. I guess I should have listened to him after all when he shook his head. Great, how are we going to pull the lovers act off if we don't see each other? Haymitch must be furious.

I look outside of the Cornucopia where the Careers are busily scooping up supplies and making sure all of the fallen are dead. I study them individually. There's Glimmer, who's trying desperately to finger comb her blonde hair. Marvel, who's cleaning the blood off his spear. Clove, who's gleefully collecting all the knives. And Cato, who's talking to the District 4 tributes in what looks like a serious conversation.

Bored, I take a look inside the cornucopia. There are food sacks, first aid kits, camping gear, bottles of water, matches, other types of outdoor gear, and a huge assortment of weapons. No wonder the Careers always survive. I feel guilty for having so many supplies here while other tributes have to work with only a small backpack.

"Hey, Twelve," Cato says from the entrance of the Cornucopia, interrupting my thoughts.

I look up and see that Cato has bought the two tributes from Four with them. "Meet Cammie and Ryan." he says, practically shoving them into the Cornucopia. I frown at him, not liking how harshly he's treating his own allies. He only scowls and goes back out the Cornucopia to talk to Glimmer, Marvel and Clove. I suppose he favors them more since they're the tougher tributes.

I turn to the District 4 tributes. They don't look as strong as the usual set of District 4 tributes, so I can see why Cato isn't very happy with them. They must see the weary expression on my face, because Cammie's excited expression falls for a moment.

"Katniss, are you alright?" she says tentatively.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine." I say, and cringe when my voice comes out a lot harsher and more sarcastic than I had wanted it to be. But they don't catch on, and just shrug saying "Okay."

Well, they got their wish to form an alliance with me. I just didn't think it would also include the Killer Quartet.

After a few minutes, Cato and the rest of the tributes get here too. They have a look of triumph on their faces. I wonder what they were talking about.

"Alright, everything's taken care of," Cato informs, "Well, except you three need weapons. But I doubt you'll really need them."

Clove snickers behind him, "Softies," she murmurs quietly.

"Shut up Clove," says Cato. "Katniss, you can have the bow and arrows."

I'm surprised that he's actually giving me weapons that I'm capable of using well. Does that mean he trusts that I won't turn against him?

"Aww, I wanted them." Glimmer pouts.

"You're useless at archery," Cato rolls his eyes, "Here, you'll have this." He tosses Glimmer a dagger encrusted with jewels.

"Well, at least this is pretty," Glimmer smiles, and hands me the silver bow and the sheath of arrows.

Instantly, I feel ten times more confident and powerful. The bow is perfect for me. I run my hands through the feathers of the precious arrows. They're in perfect condition.

Cato must have sensed my sudden eagerness. "Don't get too happy with those now, Twelve," he says in a warning tone, "They can be taken from you just as easily as they were given."

I nod quickly, letting Cato know I won't try anything funny with them. Like killing them all while they're sleeping. The thought is appealing, though.

_Snap out of it_, I tell myself, since when do you want to kill other tributes? But then again, these are Careers. They kill and deserve to be killed. They're bringing it upon themselves.

Cato also gives me a knife, just in case it comes to hand to hand combat. "And we all know how good you are at that." he breathes into my ear after he gives it to me. I blush in embarrassment at the memory of yesterday's awkward wrestling match. He sees me and smirks, "Thinking of anything in particular, Twelve?"

I decide to glare at him and continue to give him the silent treatment. He can't kill me for not talking.

"So what do we do now?" Marvel questions Cato once the Four tributes receive a few spears.

"Now, we sleep," Cato says pulling sleeping bags from the Cornucopia.

A few tributes grumble in protest, but Cato just shoots them angry stares, which silence them instantaneously. I suppose he's right. I know that the Careers do their hunting at night, so we should get some rest. Cato says he'll take first watch, so we leave him to it and all try to go to sleep.

Except I can't sleep. The adrenaline is still rushing through my body and I'm still frazzled from the run-in with Cato.

What am I supposed to do? Cato can't be serious about this. Does he really expect me to hunt down other tributes like it's no big deal?

I wonder what everyone back at home is thinking. This isn't the first time that the Careers have chosen to have an outer district Tribute in their alliance, but me out of all people…Gale must be worried. We both know that the Careers can't be trusted. Cato's sudden invitation is too suspicious.

With a small sigh, I wrap the blanket around myself and tell myself that the only reason I'm here is because I scored an eleven in training. They're using me, that's all. They don't actually want _me _in the alliance, they just want my skill.

* * *

After a few hours I'm roughly shaken by someone—Clove, I think

"Wake up," she hisses, her eyes oddly glinting in the moonlight. I slowly sit up, rubbing an aching leg and realize everyone else is already up.

"We'll be leaving in a few minutes," Cato's voice comes from the mouth of the Cornucopia. I squint and make out his shadowed figure. "Bring some food, but not too much. And bring as many weapons you can. You'll need them if you want to see some blood tonight."

Blood…oh god this is sickening. I look around at the faces of my supposed allies. They're faces are full of hunger. But not the kind of hunger I'm used to. They are craving to kill.

I gulp down my anxiousness and grab my bow, praying that they can't see the fear etched in my face.

* * *

We break into a run once we spot the smoke.

The Careers give a whoop of joy as they break through the clearing and surround the poor girl, huddled up by the puny fire. She looks up, clearly startled, and slowly backs up until she reaches the trunk of a tree.

"I've got this," Cato says, pushing everyone back. We obey and let him take care of it. He draws his sword, and a malicious smile creeps on his face.

The girl is now desperately eyeing her surroundings, but it's obvious that there is nowhere for her to run.

Fear.

It fills the tense air, making it thicker than ever. I can practically feel it radiating off of her. The panicked shallow breathing, drumming heart, unorganized and rushed thinking that will get her nowhere.

Maybe I feel her fear because I don't want to see what is about to happen either. Maybe I fear watching her die and at the complete mercy of Cato, who surely won't think twice before ending her life.

"Please, please don't kill me!" the girl is practically begging on her knees. She starts to cry, and says "No, please! Don't—" but Cato has already plunged his sword into her stomach, and pulls it out with a sickening squelch. The girl screams in pain but Cato only grins with victory. The rest of the Careers clap him on the back and congratulate him.

Something in my stomach jolts with revulsion. How could they…how could they take _joy _in killing a girl?

"Well that was fun," he drawls, "Although boring. I hate it when they don't put up a fight."

He wipes the bloody blade along the grass, cleaning it. He slides it back in the sheath and directs us out of the clearing, back in the forest. But I realize something's wrong. The others have to know too, they're just too anxious to bring it up.

"Cato, I don't think she's dead," I dare to say.

He stares at me with cold eyes, and says "I stabbed her. She's dead."

"The cannon didn't go off," I prompt.

I know I've gone too far, because he yells at me angrily, "Shut the hell up! I told you she's dead!"

Still no cannon.

We all stare at him expectantly. There's a silence. Then a cruel smile plays on his lips. "If you're so concerned, Twelve, why don't you finish her off then?"

Me? He wants _me_ to kill her? As if. But when I look back at him, he's serious, even though he still wears his menacing smile.

I swallow nervously, but manage to stick out my chin and say "Fine." I have to show them I'm not scared. If I appear as weak, they'll only laugh at me and tease me to no end.

I stomp back to the clearing and see the girl, still hunched over at the foot of the tree. Her body is slightly trembling, and Cato has cut her so deep that I can almost see her organs. I wince at the horrendous sight.

_Just pretend it's a wounded deer._ I think to myself. But that look of pain on her face has zero resemblance to a deer. She is just a human— a suffering child.

With a shaky breath, I notch an arrow and aim at her neck. I tell myself that I'm only doing this to help her. When her tear-filled eyes meet mine, she mouths a "Thank you."

I can barely release the arrow. But when I do, it plunges into her neck. My first kill.

A shudder runs through my whole body. I shut my eyes to avoid looking at her corpse and give myself three seconds to collect myself.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I blurt out the apologies, as if they matter now, as if she can hear them, lift her eyes once again to meet mine and forgive me. "I really am sorry," I whisper, staring at her sorrowfully.

What have I done? I stare at her emotionless face as I feel tears prickling my eyes. My emotions have taken over me and I feel the guilt hit me. _I just killed someone_. I ended a life...Somewhere, someone was watching her. Somewhere, her family was waiting for her to come home.

I have turned into a Career; no, a killer. But it wasn't my fault, really… it was Cato's. He purposely did this, knowing it would make me look weak. He wanted to break me this whole time.

I can't give him the satisfaction of knowing that it hurt.

When I walk back, Cato gives me a strange look, but then returns to his normal blank, cold stare.

"Is she dead?" Clove asks narrowing her eyes at me.

As a reply, we hear the fire of a cannon.

"Apparently so," I say trying to appear cool on the outside. I catch Cato's eye and try to understand what he's thinking, but all I get is the same inscrutable expression. If he's surprised, then he's masking it.

He turns back to the rest, saying "Wonder who's next?" I shiver at how natural this is for him. Hunting down tributes really is a game to these Careers. That's the difference between me and them. No matter how good I am at hunting and using a bow, I still will never be able to accept the fact that killing people is okay. And that difference doesn't surprise me at all.

* * *

**Cato**

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

The words, the apology, they astound me. I am sure that no one else heard them, since they're too busy reenacting the girl's pathetic protests.

Did Twelve really just apologize to a dead tribute? For killing her? Why would she do that? If it was me who had done it, I would have just laugh in their (dead) face. I turn around and see that she has a shocked yet sorrowful expression on her face. Does Twelve have… sympathy? No, this can't happen. She's letting her feelings show. It's unnatural.

A few seconds later she comes back with a somber expression on her face. I stare at her for a moment, but then realize that I'm probably acting uncharacteristically interested so I cover up with a bored expression instead.

"Is she dead?" Clove asks, her voice sharp and ringing in the silence.

We hear the cannon go off, and right afterwards Katniss says "Apparently so." She seems to have gone from the scared killer to the calm and collected tribute in only a few seconds. Maybe I'm not the only good actor here.

Well, one more tribute down and eleven more to go.

Her gaze flits over to me and I can see her furiously thinking, prying to find something inside me. I'm in no mood to play along, so I don't let her see past the typical mask I'm used to pulling on.

The silence is starting to kill me, so I change the subject. "Wonder who's next.." I grin at my allies, though I still can't shake off the uncomfortable feeling that's latched onto my mind. Twelve and her fucking sentiment.

They all look at me with admiration and seem excited at the prospect of hunting some more. All except for Katniss. She maintains her neutral expression, not saying a word. Well, that's her problem, not mine.

"Come on," I break off into a run, and hear the rest following me. Soon, we find another reckless tribute that has lit a fire. Seriously, are they _trying_ to get us to find them? This is ridiculous.

Everyone looks at me questioningly. I shake my head. "No, too easy. You take this one, Ryan," I say absently. I cross my arms and watch as Ryan grips his spear, throwing it towards the frightened tribute.

But Ryan misses, and things go wrong.

The tribute realizes that this is his moment to run, and so he does. While we are standing there surprised that Ryan had missed such an easy target, the tribute darts away, deep into the dark shadows of the forest, out of sight.

"What. Is. Your. Fucking. Problem!" I growl at Ryan, who is now trembling. He should be. He let someone get away! He _missed_!

Angrily, I step forward and grab his neck with one hand, using the other to slam into his face repeatedly. I can hear gasps from everyone, but I don't care. This kid will pay for his careless mistake. He deserves every bit of this pain.

"Stop, stop it!"

I ignore the voice and continue letting my anger out on the kid. His arms are flailing and my fist is satisfyingly smashing into his cheek. _Crunch._

I feel a pair of skinny arms trying to pull me away from Ryan, and I turn around finding that Katniss out of all people is standing behind me glowering.

"Why are you doing this?!" she points to an almost unconscious Ryan. He is alive, but faintly breathing. "Are you trying to kill him or something? Because if so, do it the right way and stop beating him up like this!"

"Don't tell me what to do," I hiss, "He deserves this. Anyways, there is no right way for killing a person. I can do it any way I want. Now stay out of this!"

"Cato, she's got a point," Clove rolls her eyes, "We should keep the kid alive."

"It isn't any of your business either _Clover,_" I glare at her.

"I'm in this alliance too," she says indignantly, "So I have a say in this, don't I? And I say don't kill him yet."

I stare at her angry features for a moment, and then relent. Though I'll never admit it, Clove is usually the one who makes the better decisions.

"Fine. I'll let him live. But only so it'll be more entertaining to kill him later."

There are a few sighs of relief. Katniss pulls Ryan off the ground, and everyone looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to say something. I raise an eyebrow at them. "Have we all become mute or something? Let's go."

"But what about Ryan?" Glimmer asks.

I groan, "This is why I should have killed him. Well, you and Katniss can take him back to the Cornucopia."

"All the way back?" Katniss says in disbelief.

"What, is a mile too much for you, Twelve?" I snarl, and she immediately shuts up.

"Let's go," I turn to Clove and Marvel, "There's still a lot more of them out there."

Without looking back at Katniss and Glimmer, I give Marvel and Clove a rough shove and we start to run deeper into the forest, motivated only by our lust to kill.

.

**A/N: **This was an interesting chapter to write. Anyways, there'll be some more Cato drama in the next chapter (He's a pretty messed up person). Because I'm a realist and I also want to have his trust in Katniss develop slowly, they won't really be having a relationship any time soon. But it'll happen eventually!


	4. Temper Tantrum

**Katniss**

Glimmer takes the boy's upper body, and I take his lower. He isn't very heavy, but my muscles ache with exhaustion from all the running we've had to do tonight. I dread having to carry him all the way back to the Cornucopia. My arms sag a little as we lift him up, off the ground.

"Tired?" Glimmer asks, her hazel eyes watching me with interest.

"No," I lie, "I'm fine."

"You don't look like it," Glimmer observes. "You can usually tell when someone is tired by the way they walk. And if they don't talk much."

"Well I don't usually talk much anyway. And it's really none of your business," I say, annoyed. I don't understand why she's talking to me. I had expected all of the Career tributes to just ignore me or shoot irrated glances at me, but Glimmer is actually trying to initiate a conversation.

There's a brief pause where Glimmer is quiet, and it seems like I've hurt her feelings. But she only looks back up at me again, curiously.

"You're acting like Cato, you know," she says. Cato? Why would she even say that? I'm _nothing_ like Cato.

"Thanks, that's just what I wanted to hear," I say sarcastically. "And you would know so much about Cato because..?"

"I used to like him," she admits, shrugging. "But he didn't like me back."

"I don't find that surprising." I snort. I expect her to get upset, or at least indignant about it, but she shrugs again.

"He doesn't like people easily."

"I can tell."

"He says that girls are a waste of time."

"And so are boys, if you ask me."

"Well I have time to date _and_ train," she says. She tilts her head to the side and studies me. "I'm guessing you've never even had a boyfriend before."

I feel my cheeks turn red when she says this. This is a subject I'm not good at… relationships. Whether they're with family, friends, or boys. I'm not a people person. There's something about the closeness, the trust, and the dependency that I can't manage. I can help people like Prim, and I can only name about three people that I love—mother, Prim, and…father, who I guess should no longer count since he's dead.

And Glimmer decides to just point this out, as if she were merely reading a story.

Is my life really that easy to read?

"How do you know that?" I say quietly.

"Well, you don't really stare at Cato the way other girls do," Glimmer thinks aloud. "You just look at him like you want to kill him.."

_Because I do. He dragged me into this stupid alliance, and I hate him for doing it._

"Yeah, well that might be true," I mutter.

There's a long silence as we continue to walk through the woods. We have to stop a few times to rest and put Ryan's body back onto the ground. Surprisingly, Glimmer is really strong, so I'm the one who ends up hurting more than she does.

After the silence becomes too lengthy, I decide to talk to her some more. Maybe if I ask the right questions, I can learn some secrets about the Careers and use them to my advantage.

"Is Cato always so… angry?" I ask. Glimmer's lips tug downwards in a frown and she nods slowly.

"Well, he does have a few problems, especially with weak people and his lover girls," Glimmer says. "Once, he punched my throat when I tried to kiss him. I learned my lesson after that," she laughs softly.

I bite my lip, not knowing whether to laugh too or be surprised. Does he really overact that easily? This isn't good. I look down at Ryan's body, seeing the faint bruises that are already starting to replace the red swelling. Yes, there's definitely something wrong with Cato. He almost killed the poor boy earlier. Good thing I had stepped in.

I let Glimmer talk for the rest of the walk back. I don't learn that much after all. Either she isn't as close to Cato and Clove as I thought, or they're really good at hiding things from her. Probably the latter, as everyone knows that she's a big gossip. She's actually rather nice, but I can't get too friendly with her. After all, we're in the arena. Everyone's my enemy.

We finally get back to the grassy field, and the huge Cornucopia is in sight. The moonlight glints eerily off of the silver surface and for some reason, it's too quiet.

"Glimmer, what's that?" I say squinting in the darkness. There's a strange form at the mouth of the Cornucopia.

"Oh, that's the Four girl," Glimmer says absentmindedly.

"No, it can't be. It's all…weird," I say.

As we get closer, I realize that has happened. To my horror, I see that it is indeed Cammie. But definitely not the Cammie we've left behind. Glimmer and I drop Ryan to the ground and hurry over to her.

Oh…_no_.

Her body is completely savaged, red and soaked with blood. Her blank face is staring up at the dark sky, and her arms and legs are sprawled out in the grass. There is a bloodstained knife in her hand, and I see a trail of blood leading towards the woods. Cammie's chest is only slowly rising and falling. I don't know how she's still alive. If she is still alive, there's no way she'll stay that way.

"Cammie?" I say softly. Her face remains blank. She can't hear me. And that's when I know how close she is.

After a few seconds, her chest seems to have stopped rising and falling. And then we hear a boom of a cannon.

"She's dead," Glimmer says quietly.

I resist the urge to say _No duh._ Instead, I stare transfixed at the girl's dead body. She was so eager to be in an alliance with me. And she had only spoken to me once—the time I had ignored her.

"What do you think happened?" Glimmer asks. I turn to her and notice that she has a calm expression on her face. Oh, right. I forgot that this is all normal to her.

"Someone must have came up and… and attacked her. It looks like Cammie stabbed them though," I gesture towards her bloody knife, "But they got away. See the trail of blood going to the woods? They're out there, and hopefully going to die soon."

"Hopefully," Glimmer agrees.

We both stare at Cammie's body for another dreadful moment. Then Glimmer pokes me in the ribs and gestures over to the grassy area next to the Cornucopia.

"What's that?" she asks in a hushed voice, pointing to the ground where it looks like the grass has been upturned.

I abandon the body and begin to slowly walk towards the spot she's pointing to, inspecting the ground. There are cuts in it—someone must have written something using a stick—exposing the soft brown dirt underneath and forming one word, which I read aloud;

"_THANKS"_

I turn to Glimmer, puzzled, and repeat, "Thanks? For what?"

Then she frowns. "We're missing stuff."

"What?" I say confused by her sudden statement.

"No one comes and kills our guard without stealing anything from our stash. They even _thanked _us for the supplies!" She hurries quickly to the inside of the Cornucopia. I'm surprised at her random burst of intelligence. But then again, this is probably something all mentors tell their Career tributes. Guard your supplies well, because theft is common.

I go inside with her, and look from her shocked face to the half empty Cornucopia. A pang of fear hits me. Half of our supplies… gone.

"How did he carry so much?" she says, astonished.

I don't know. I don't know who the thief was. I don't know if they had helpers or allies. But I do know something that gives me shivers down my spine.

Cato will be angry.

* * *

**Cato**

"Can we go back now?" Clove's whiny voice reaches my ears as we run deeper into the woods. "It's been, like, half an hour since we've been running, and we still haven't found anyone."

I ignore her and continue running, swiftly leaping over fallen branches and snapping small twigs. Clove should know better- we can't go back. One kill isn't good enough. There are five more tributes out here somewhere, and we have to get at least one more down tonight.

This shouldn't be too hard. We have the advantage with the night vision goggles, and most tributes should be taking shelter by now. But as we go farther and farther into the forest, I realize that I haven't seen any signs of life or fires at all. We're surrounded by huge trees looming over us in the dark. We spot a few creatures every once in a while. The occasional owl. A mockingjay sleeping in its nest. A large bird of some sort. The branches above us rustle from the slight breeze, but other than that, there are no noises. Just the continuous sound of our footsteps softly pounding against the dirt.

Suddenly, we hear it. _Boom._ It's the fire of a cannon. I abruptly stop, and Clove and Marvel almost run into me. I can see that their eyes are wide with curiosity and surprise.

"Who could that be?" Marvel asks instantly.

The possibilities wildly run through my head. It _could _be another tribute out in the woods, stupidly causing their own death, but I know that it's too good to be true. And it's only the first day, so it can't be possible that someone died of starvation or thirst.

Someone was killed. Maybe it was Glimmer, or Katniss. They went back together to the Cornucopia alone, and it would have been easy for Glimmer to spring on Katniss and attack her. But then again, Glimmer isn't the type to attack someone out of nowhere, especially her own ally. Knowing her, she's probably happily chit-chatting with Katniss.

"Cato?" Clove says suddenly. "Do you think that it's Cammie?"

Cammie? I hadn't thought about her. Surely she could defend herself, even if she wasn't the toughest tribute. It couldn't be her. No one would have the guts to steal from us anyway.

"I think we should go back." I say slowly, "To see what's happened. You know, just in case. I mean, I personally don't care," I snicker to myself. How surprisingly funny would it be if _Glimmer_ had killed Katniss? "I don't care who died but… this could get interesting."

Clove and Marvel nod in agreement, and we turn around to go back.

"Wait, we probably shouldn't take the same way back," I say, "Maybe we'll find someone if we take a different route."

"Are you sure you'll know where you're going, Mr. Desperate?" Clove smirks at me.

"Shut up, Clove," I say through gritted teeth. Leave it to Clove to doubt me. I turn around and run at a fast pace. I can hear sounds of panting that indicate Clove and Marvel are having a hard time keeping up. Well, that's their problem.

We run for about twenty minutes. Then, there's another surprise. Marvel's screams piercing the silence of the night.

I stop again and turn to find that Marvel has crumpled to the ground. A spear is sticking out of his neck, and his face is twisted in pain. Clove and I rush over to him.

"What happened?" Clove says hurriedly. She's trying to stop the gush of blood pouring from his neck, but we all know that it's too late.

Marvel doesn't say anything, but instead his eyes widen. He lifts a shaky finger to point behind us, and that's when I realize something's definitely wrong. I turn around quickly to see a figure holding a sword to my throat.

A cannon fires, signaling Marvel's death. But my eyes stay on the person who is trying to kill me.

In one smooth motion, I pull my own sword out from my belt. He lunges at me, but I am prepared so I quickly jump back. His sword nicks the skin of my neck causing me to bleed a bit. Then everything happens quickly. Out of nowhere, Clove's knife goes sailing towards his chest right when I swipe at his legs. He jumps back in surprise and I miss his legs by barely an inch, but Clove's knife has found its mark. He falls to the ground with a _thump_. His hands are still clutching the knife in his chest, trying to pull it out.

"Nice one," I mutter to Clove, who just grins with triumph. I tuck my sword back in the sheath and watch as she walks over to the boy, squinting at his face.

"Hmm, interesting. He's the boy Ryan missed. Guess he didn't get away from us after all."

"Serves him right. You can't escape death here," I look at his face, and I realize that it's the District 3 tribute. "Finish him off. I'll check his backpack."

Clove excitedly bends over and starts murmuring torture threats into his ear. Well, he's almost dead anyway, so there's no point in torturing him. But Clove likes to play with her victims, so I let her have her fun.

I ignore the pathetic sounds of pain emitting from the tribute's mouth, and search his backpack. Surprisingly, there's tons of food and supplies in here. Rope, flashlights, dried fruit, and medicine. There's _no_ way it was this stuffed when he got it from the Cornucopia. And… there's something familiar about these items.

"Clove, come here," I say.

"Wait, I'm not done," she says annoyed. I glance over at her and she's busy using her knife to carve designs on the boy's arm.

I roll my eyes at her absurdity.

"Does this backpack look familiar?" I hold it up to her. She scowls and looks up from the boy's body. She squints at it for a moment, then a flicker of recognition crosses over her face.

"Yeah… where did you get that? It's one of the backpacks that I hid in the back of the Cornucopia."

The back of the Cornucopia… that means he was there. Could he have stolen this? I look at his disfigured face. The cannon goes off in the silence that follows.

"Clove," I say slowly, "We need to get back. Now."

* * *

**Katniss**

"You should sleep," Glimmer advises as we watch the hovercraft carry Cammie's body away, "I'll keep watch."

Sleep seems like a good idea. I'm about to go inside the Cornucopia, but I hesitate. Do I trust her? She seems friendly, but wouldn't she also want me out of the way? It would be so easy to kill me in my sleep, while no one else was here to witness it.

As if reading my thoughts, she says "What? I won't kill you in your sleep, you know. Anyways, Cato would be mad at me if I did. He really wanted to have you in this alliance." She sighs with…is that jealousy? No, I must be imagining things.

I grudgingly go back inside the Cornucopia and get a sleeping bag, curling up once I'm inside. What a night. I realize that the girl I killed is still in the back of my mind, still tugging at my conscience. I remind myself that I had to do it. It was for the best. But her agonized face keeps appearing in my mind. Ugh, it's all Cato's fault. He made me join his alliance, made me watch him stab someone, and made me kill an innocent girl. I've only been with the Careers for less than a day, and I've already seen enough to haunt me for a lifetime.

* * *

The _boom_ of a cannon wakes me up.

"Glimmer?" I call out with uncertainty.

"Still here," she replies. She isn't dead. I'm faintly aware of the fact that I'm relieved, but I brush it off. I can't get close to her. In fact, I should want her to be dead.

I yawn, and walk towards her sitting figure. She seems to be alert and is watching the forest as if she's waiting for something.

"Who do you think it was?" I sit down on the ground next to her. She thinks for a moment, still staring out into the woods. Finally, she says "Could be anyone."

We sit in silence for another brief moment before we hear it again. _Boom_. This time, I'm also alert. That's two cannons in a row.

"There must have been a fight," I say. "It can't be a coincidence that two tributes died within a minute. Either Cato, Clove and Marvel found some tributes, or there was some other random fight in the woods," I pause and weigh the choices. "But I'm guessing it had to do with Cato, Clove and Marvel."

"Two cannons." Glimmer repeats quietly. "So you mean one of _us_ died."

I stare at her. She's so different. She had gone to the bubbly talkative tribute to a mature Career in less than an hour. Is it because of the cannons?

"Probably Marvel," she says nonchalantly. "Cato and Clove are strong. It would take a lot to kill them. But Marvel…"

She actually looks sad, as if she's on the verge of tears.

"You okay?" I say quietly. Never would I have thought about asking a Career tribute if they were okay. But seeing Glimmer in this emotional mess, well, it only seemed appropriate. Maybe she really did care for Marvel.

She breathes in deeply. "Fine," she says, "I'm fine. We aren't even sure he's dead. It could be anyone."

I decide to leave her alone. She doesn't seem like she's in the mood for talking, and I know that from personal experience.

"Okay," I agree, "You're right. It could be anyone." I look at her tired face, and realize that she needs sleep too. "I'll take watch from now on, you should get some rest."

But instead, she just perks up again, suddenly alert.

"What's wrong?" I sit up straight and stare into the woods. It's completely dark in there, and I can see nothing but a straight line of black ominous trees.

"Did you hear that?" she says. I don't at first, but then I realize what she's talking about. The rustling noise coming from the forest. She draws out a dagger, and I decide to get my bow out from the Cornucopia. I notch an arrow and point in the general direction of the noise.

Two figures emerge from the forest, both running towards us. I'm about to shoot, when I realize that it's Cato and Clove. I breathe out a sigh of relief.

"It's them," I tell Glimmer, but she already knows. I put the arrow back in my sheath and watch as Cato and Clove come dashing up to us, a concerned look on their faces. I wonder what they thought when they heard the cannons. Maybe that's why they came back. But…wait, where's Marvel?

"What happened?" Clove asks Glimmer. Cato glares at both of them, and roughly shoves me to the ground to get to the Cornucopia. I rub my shoulder resentfully, wondering why he finds it necessary to push people around all the time. I watch as he walks into the Cornucopia, and…_Oh no, not there, don't go in there_. _Please no. _

"Well, Cammie was here on guard, and when we came back she was dead," Glimmer tries to explain, but she doesn't have to. It's too late. Cato has already seen the damage—the missing supplies.

He whips around angrily, his face practically contorted with fury.

Then, it's quiet. I stare at the ground, not wanting to see what will happen next. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clove shoot Glimmer a look. _You're in for it. _Glimmer only stares at the ground, like I do.

"What the hell happened?" Cato yells at Glimmer. "Why are half the fucking supplies _GONE?_"

Glimmer only continues to stare at the ground. She seems to be blocking out Cato's words.

"It's not our fault," she says quietly. But Cato doesn't have any of that. Instead, he slashes his sword around, unable to find a target. He shouts a string curses into the night air, while we silently watch, afraid.

"It's been _stolen_! You idiots can't even guard some _food _for fuck's sake?"

"I said…it's not our fault." Glimmer repeats.

Cato drives his sword into the ground. His eyes are dark with uncontrolled anger. Sweat has already begun to bead at his forehead, and the insane look he wears sends chills down my spine.

"Then whose fault is it?" he breathes heavily, still focused on Glimmer.

"I… I don't know, but whoever it was… they killed Cammie." Glimmer's timid voice answers. She gives him a meek look. I know that look. It's the same expression I get from animals, right before I shoot them. It's the look of hope. That maybe, against all odds, I might not kill them.

This is it. Cato is going to run his sword through Glimmer, just like he did with the girl I had to shoot. I brace myself for Glimmer's scream and her plea of mercy, and for the blood that comes along with Cato's rage.

Instead, something entirely different happens.

Cato yanks his sword up and out of the earth, only to slam it back down. But instead of hitting dirt, he hits something else.

Blood splatters everywhere, and in that moment, I realize that Cato's sword has found the target— Ryan's still-unconscious body.

Glimmer shrieks with disgust. I can't do anything. I can't speak, or even scream like Glimmer. I only look at Ryan's bruised face, and feel one thing.

Guilt.

He had wanted to be my ally. Just like Cammie. He was young, most likely fourteen years old. He didn't deserve this. No, he didn't deserve to die. _I didn't save him from Cato just to have him be killed by Cato later on,_ I think angrily to myself. This is all Cato's fault. He let his anger take over him, and now we have another dead tribute.

_Boom. _We hear the cannon go off. That's five more tributes tonight, meaning sixteen dead in one day. This must be some new record. I look around to see everyone's reactions, but no one seems to have noticed. Either that, or they didn't care. Well, they didn't seem to care about Ryan in the first place. Glimmer looks nervous, Clove almost looks bored, but Cato is still pacing around, angrily muttering words under his breath.

"Can you just shut up?" I finally say to him, interrupting his ranting. Glimmer gasps softly, and Clove stiffens beside me.

Cato looks at me with intense hatred. "Don't tell me what to do, you pathetic Coal girl," he growls, pointing his sword at me. But I realize something. I'm not scared like I should be. I don't know why, because he's a trained killer who could end my life just as easily as he ended Ryan's. But I'm not afraid.

"You're calling me pathetic? Look at yourself," I say with disgust, "You're the one killing other tributes just because you're angry! If you could just control your emotions a bit more, things wouldn't get so out of hand! Don't you realize what you're doing?"

I look expectantly at Cato, waiting for him to say something. Maybe he'll actually listen to me. He usually seems to be a bit patient with me, for some reason. Hopefully it'll work right now. He needs to cool off, and calm down before he kills someone again.

Instead, the hatred in his eyes only grows stronger. "I wouldn't say that, Twelve." He steps forward, and before I know it, there's a heavy _bang_ resounding in my head and I'm seeing stars.

.

**AN: **Hehe I'm having too much fun with these chapter titles. Thanks for reading and as always please review! I feel like I'm wasting my time writing this if no one reads it! Suggestions, comments, or even a little note would be fine :)


	5. Better Sorry than Safe

I blink, hard, and bring a shaky hand to my cheek. It stings when I touch it. My head is still spinning a little and my eyes ache.

It takes me another second to realize...he hit me.

I touch it again, and find that it's numb. I can only imagine the huge red mark that'll be there the next day. If there is a next day for me. Judging by the way Cato reacts to everything, I could be dead any moment.

Suddenly, a bubbling sensation of equal anger spikes in me.

He _slapped _me!

"You're a damn coward, you know. Too scared to face the truth that this is your fault and all the deaths and mistakes are because of you!" I say, "You can't even—"

"Don't go there, Twelve—"

"I don't care! I can say whatever I want and—"

"Fucking fine then! Say what you want, I don't give a damn!"

He turns on his heel and storms off, leaving me flustered with anger. Glimmer shoots me a look of sympathy, and Clove only rolls her eyes and follows after Cato. Maybe she can bring some sense into him.

I sit down on the ground shakily, wishing my cheek would stop stinging, and cursing his impatience. Glimmer sits down across from me.

"You know, you're lucky he didn't do anything worse than slap you. Once, he broke someone's arm because they accidently pushed him."

I glance up at Glimmer, who's playing with her dagger absentmindedly and running her thumb over the jewels.

"I know," I whisper. I know, but I don't understand. How can someone be so easily unsettled by a few words? I was just trying to give him advice, and he takes his anger out on me by _slapping_ me? Cato obviously has a reason to be angry— half of our supplies are gone. It just isn't right to be going around taking his anger out on others.

I don't want to do this any longer. I don't want to be in Cato's stupid alliance. I don't care if they hunt me down and kill me, being here with Cato is like treading on eggshells. I'd rather leave and be free than to have my safety guaranteed by an expert Career pack. Actually, it isn't even that safe with Cato around. Yes, I know what I have to do now.

I get up, sling a backpack over my shoulder and grab my bow and arrows. They'll be helpful when I'm out in the woods. They mean my survival. And hopefully, when Cato comes to look for me, I can shoot him down from a tree or something.

"Where are you going?" Glimmer says suddenly.

Oh, right. Glimmer. I curse under my breath, how am I supposed to escape with her watching me?

"Nowhere," I mutter, flinging the backpack onto the ground and stomping my foot with frustration.

"You know, if you're thinking about running away, Cato will find you. That's a promise," Glimmer says. She knows. She knows that I want to leave this place. But wait— is she… threatening me? It sounds like it, but when I look into her eyes, I don't see anger in them. Not even surprise. She curious.

"And… if I did, you wouldn't tell him where I went?" I ask.

"Oh, I'll have to. If I don't tell him where, then I'll be dead for sure," she says, "Which is why you should get a head start."

"Are you helping me?" I stare at her in disbelief. Shouldn't she be mad, or at least suspicious, that I'm leaving?

"I know why you're leaving, Katniss," she says, "It's because of him, isn't it?" She tilts her head to the side and thinks for a moment. "Be careful though. He's good at tracking people down. And once he finds you, he'll never let you go."

I nod and say a quick "thanks," right before Cato and Clove get back.

* * *

**Cato**

Pull it together. You slapped her to because she deserved it. That's all.

I pace back and forth along the edge of the forest. _Stupid. Now she won't ever trust you again._

"What's going on?" Clove says angrily, stomping up to me.

"What do you mean? You'll have to be a bit more specific."

"Everything, Cato! Everything that's happened today! First you pull her into our alliance, then you insist she stays and then you slap her?" Clove places her hands on her hips, her nostrils flaring in anger.

"Isn't that what you also wanted? You said it would be easier to kill her once she's in!" I retort, but I sort of understand where Clove is coming from. I should either be nice to Katniss or treat her like dirt. So far, I've been treating her like dirt. This isn't helping our plan.

"Well, try being nicer," Clove snaps, "She'll never trust you if you keep hurting her."

"Geez, you're starting to sound like Enobaria," I say. At this, Clove's eyes flit upwards as if to see Enobaria's reaction. But her eyes only meet the dark starry sky.

"Whatever," she scoffs and turns around to go back to the Cornucopia. I roll my eyes and follow her.

When I get back, Katniss and Glimmer are sitting on the ground talking. For some reason, Katniss has her bow and arrows close to her, and she's going through the contents of a backpack.

She tenses up when I approach her. I notice tightly she clutches her bow, like she's preparing to use it any second. Maybe she's afraid I'll do something dramatic again.

_Stay friendly_ I remind myself. _Don't scare her. At least, not yet…_

"I'll take first watch." I announce. It must be a few hours before dawn, and everyone seems sleepy. Good thing I'm used to staying up all night. Glimmer and Clove instantly grab sleeping bags and settle in, but Katniss only eyes me warily.

"Go to sleep, all I'm doing is keeping watch," I smirk.

Her mouth hangs open for a moment, probably surprised at my sudden change of attitude. Then she snaps it back shut, shaking her head and mutter "whatever". I watch out of the corner of my eye as she takes her hair out of her braid combs it with her fingers. Finally, she settles into her bag, lying completely still.

I shift my body so that I get a good view of the woods. I'm sure no one would even try coming into my territory. It was only different with Cammie because she was alone, and obviously weak. But with me, Clove, Glimmer, and even Katniss, there's no point in even trying to fight us.

Thinking back to the stolen items, I feel a new surge of anger. Who could have stolen all those supplies? Surely not just one person. There must have been some sort of alliance going on. But between who? The two District eleven tributes are still alive, so maybe they were the ones who did it. And the District three boy could easily have come in after them and picked out a backpack since Cammie was dead anyway.

Hopefully I can get my hands on the District 11 guy tomorrow. He seemed like one of the tougher tributes. Of course, the little girl can be taken care of easily…

I count the remaining tributes. Other than us, there are four left. The redheaded girl from 5, the two from 11, and Lover Boy. Hmm, I wonder where he went. I'm actually surprised that he's made it this far into the Games, but after tomorrow, hopefully he'll no longer be a threat to my victory. I wonder if he misses Katniss at all. He's made hardly an attempt to rescue her.

* * *

**Katniss**

"Rise and shine, princess."

I hear the sarcastic voice that brings me out of my dreams as I slowly open my eyes. I blink, and see Cato standing over me and nonchalantly sharpening a knife. I almost jump with surprise but manage to keep a cool exterior. Running my fingers through my tangled hair, I try to make sense of the time. It can't be morning, because the sun is high. It must be around noon.

"Good morning to you too," I grumble, hoping to wipe that obnoxious smirk off his face. I get up and check next to me for my bow and arrows. Good. They're still here.

"What are we doing today?" says Glimmer. She's digging around the food packs, looking for breakfast.

"She means 'who are we killing today?'" Clove translates while she arranges her knives in her jacket. She holds one up in the sunlight, examining it.

"Today we go after Lover Boy," Cato has a humorous glint in his eye as he looks at me and checks for my reaction.

I don't say anything at first; I had expected Cato to do this. He just wants to see me weak, full of emotion, and broken. Little does he know that the romance is an act. Thank goodness.

But to be safe, I pull on a pained expression, and cast my face towards the ground as if I'm worried. Well, it is partially true. While I'm not in love with Peeta, I don't want him to be killed either. He saved my life once, and I had hoped to do the same for him in the Games. Now…

Clove snickers at me, "Aww, look at Twelve. Poor little thing. Don't worry, I'll make sure you have _plenty_ of time to see him before he dies. I'll make his death long and slow and painful." She grins with what I can only assume to be excitement.

I can only feel disgust that this girl who's still so young, fifteen, maybe, is already so cruel. What kind of tributes does District Two make?

I wonder what Haymitch is thinking about all this. Me joining the Careers and hunting my supposed "lover" down with them. I can't disappoint him. I realize that I have to keep up the whole act until the end, meaning I have to pretend to love Peeta until he dies. Once he dies, I'll have a good reason not to be in love with him anymore. I'll just say I've moved on, and hopefully the Capitol will accept it.

"Please, don't," I whisper as convincingly as I can.

"Hmm, we'll see," says Cato, looking at me amusedly. I want to smack him just like how he had done to me, but I can't. Well, unless I want to be run through with his sword, which will never help me with winning. So I just walk over to Glimmer who's eating some dried fruit.

She holds out the bag, offering me some pieces of dried apple. I take a few and chew on them thoughtfully. There's something that's been bugging me for a while. Something that I don't quite understand.

Why does Cato want to keep me in his alliance so badly? I know that I'm good with a bow and arrow, but he's suddenly acting like I'm one of them. In fact, he almost treats me better than he did to the Four tributes. I quickly look up at him, and he's gathering the supplies to hide them away. He seems strangely…protective over me. For some reason, I believe Glimmer's words. Cato will never let me go, will he?

* * *

We alternate between walking and running through the woods for what seems like hours. Cato insists that we never stop, because we'll never find anyone if we do.

It seems like forever before it finally happens. We see someone. A flash of red hair darting between the pine trees. It must be the foxfaced girl. I almost let out a groan— another tribute. That means another violent, bloody kill that I'll be forced to watch.

"It's her! The District 5 girl!" Glimmer exclaims.

"Let's go!" says Cato, breaking into a sprint. Clove and Glimmer also start running after her.

It's hard to follow them at first because they're running at such a fast pace, but I manage to keep up even though I'm in the back of the group. Everyone is so agile, as if they ran like this every day. Even Cato jumps over the fallen trees, roots and stumps with more grace than I can manage. I stop for just a few seconds to catch my breath, letting them go ahead, and I realize something.

They're running. They're distracted. And I'm alone.

While I've stopped to think, they've gotten farther and farther away from me. They haven't noticed that I've dropped out. Yes, they're too busy trying to follow the foxfaced girl like dogs on a hunt. Perfect.

I check my supplies. I have a bottle of water, a pack of beef strips, half a loaf of bread, a few bandages, and a knife, along with my bow and arrows. I could make it. I could escape, and they would never be able to find me. I look back up in the direction that we were running and noticed that they have run so far, I can no longer see them. I turn and head in the opposite direction, running towards a new area in the woods I've never been in before.

As I'm running, a thought enters my head. Isn't there some saying… something like 'Better safe than sorry'? Am I doing that right now? Trying to be safe rather than sorry? Or is it the other way around? Either way, all I know is that escaping the Careers means escaping Cato. I might even do better out here on my own. The forest is my natural territory. I can make it without the help of the bloodthirsty Careers, I'm sure of it.

* * *

**Cato**

We're gaining on her. I can tell, because she's getting tired. Plus, there's no way she can outrun us. I've been training for this for years.

Clove shrieks with glee as we finally close in on her. She looks around, her red hair whipping back and forth around her, but there's no way out. She's backed up against a large tree, and we've got her surrounded on all sides. I can already smell the metallic scent of blood in the air.

"We've got you." Glimmer states, a sly grin forming on her lips. I also grin with satisfaction, but slowly, it melts away. There's something wrong. I can feel it…something's missing.

I whip around, expecting to find Katniss behind me, out of breath and with the typical look of fear on her face. But the space behind me is unoccupied.

Fuck, she's gone.

She must have dropped behind and left us! Damn it, I knew I should have been watching her!

"Clove, Glimmer," I say sharply, and they look up at me. "Katniss is gone. I'll go look for her, you two take care of Five." I gesture towards the District 5 girl. Clove's eyes widen, and she looks around wildly.

"Fine. But you better find her," she snarls at me, probably thinking it was my fault, as usual.

"I'll do more than that," I mutter, placing my sword back through my belt. "Meet me at the Cornucopia."

She nods and turns her attention back to the redhead, and I take off in the direction we came from.

I run for at least ten minutes, but there's no sign of Katniss. There's no way that she had dropped out so long ago—we would have noticed.

_I am going to kill her, _I think to myself, _I don't care if Clove wants me to wait so she can see this. I don't care if it's more dramatic if I kill her _after_ I gain her trust. I will fucking kill her._

As the murderous thoughts run through my head, I stop short and realize that I've reached the edge of the forest, where the open field is. Yes, the Cornucopia is in plain sight. Good thing I hid the supplies elsewhere, it would be so easy for another tribute to steal them right now.

I hunch down and catch my breath. Where the hell did she go? Did she escape when we started chasing down the girl from 5? If so, where in the arena is she? Not towards the grain field, it's too far. And she obviously isn't back at the Cornucopia. She must be in the forest somewhere. I turn around and survey the piney area. There's one place we haven't really been to yet. It's on the far left, and the trees there seem to be a bit taller. Maybe that's where she is.

I start running again, but this time I veer towards the left side of the forest. It doesn't take long to get to that particular area, but the ground is at an incline, which isn't very easy to run on. Finally, I get far enough so that I no longer recognize the place.

And then I see her. She's walking along rather quickly, bow in her hands and an arrow strung as if she's about to shoot. I remember her dead aim in training. Like Clove, she never misses. She's staring up in a tree, maybe looking at a bird or something. Is she hunting? Surely this is the worst time to be hunting, right after escaping us. Doesn't she have food in her pack? It doesn't matter—either way, she'll be dead in a matter of minutes.

Suddenly, she turns around, surveying the area around her with frantic grey eyes. And that's when she sees me.

* * *

**Katniss**

I squint up at the tree, not sure if I was imagining things or not. Is someone up there? I hear the rustling noise again, and this time it's coming from my right side. I turn around slowly, looking up at the trees surrounding me and trying to find the origin of the noise. I lower my gaze a little, and my eyes meet the eyes of someone else. The icy blue eyes of someone I had hoped to never see again.

And then I run. My feet fly out from under me and I run as fast as I can, trying to get away from my enemy. But I know that he'll catch up because he's probably the fastest runner in the arena. I realize that there's only one option left—I must take to the trees. Panting, I wildly look around for a good tree to scale. There, the medium sized one that's to my left.

My hands grab onto its trunk and I start scrambling up. I almost make it too, but then his hands grasp onto my boot. I try to kick at his face, but he's got a firm grip on me. Then he yanks me down, and with a thump, I land on the ground.

I almost scream in pain—my tailbone seems to have been injured—but instead, all I can do is stare into the cold pair of eyes of my killer. Fear. It hits me, hard.

"Tried to escape, didn't you, Fire Girl?" Cato breathes, a cruel smile forming on his lips. "It's not that easy, you know."

.

**A/N: **Bad place to leave it off, I know. But when I typed this chapter up, it was reallllyy long so I had to divide it somehow. Anyway, I hope you guys liked it :) Please review! The next chapter will be up soon since it's already been written.


	6. Fire Meets Fire

I struggle to get up and run, but he only pins me down on the ground. One of his hands keep my squirming legs in place so that I'm incapable of standing, the other yanks my head up by my hair so that our eyes lock together. I let out a strangled noise but I don't let my contemptuous stare waver.

"I think I should just end your worthless life right now," Cato continues almost nonchalantly, and he moves one of his hands to the hilt of his sword tucked away in his belt.

I run through a minute list of escape options. I could attempt to stall, hoping someone would cross our path, or try to retrieve the dagger in my backpack and stab him. I realize that none of these will likely happen.

"Don't do this," I breathe quickly, resorting to pleading with him. His eyes don't flicker with any hint of emotion. "You can't. We're allies."

"Allies?" he questions, giving a cynical laugh, "You call running away from us like a _fucking coward _being an 'ally'?" He pulls out his sword and holds it against my throat.

"You can't blame me for running away from a group of insane killers," I snarl, and the blade cuts in deeper. I stare at it and can't help but wonder how much it'll hurt.

_No, be strong._ I think to myself, averting my eyes and meeting Cato's stormy glare, _Be strong for Prim. Don't let all of Panem see your fear._

I put on what I believe to be a brave and determined face, but I don't know for sure because the thudding of my heartbeat drowns out all thoughts.

"Maybe you're right," he sneers, leaning in uncomfortably close. I subconsciously take note of every fleck of anger embedded into his eyes, and wonder how much he really hates me. "We're insane killers, aren't we? Which is why I'll have _no _problem slicing your head off."

I open my mouth to retort, to buy more time, but a smell hits me. It's musky and thick with a sharp tang of cut wood.

Cato's gaze has shifted. He's no longer looking at me, no, he's looking somewhere to the left. I struggle against his grip and crane my neck to try to see what he's looking at but his hand only slams my head back down to the ground. For a moment, splitting pain enters my head again. Then something registers.

Smoke.

I sniff the air tentatively. Yes, definitely smoke. There's a fire somewhere, and no doubt it's headed our way. I can feel Cato's grip on me loosen as he distractedly tries to put together the signs. He still hasn't figured it out yet.

Then I hear a mechanical hiss, and out of the corner of my eye I see something the size of an apple hurtling towards us. Blazing, orange and fiery like the sun.

"Cato, MOVE!" I shout, and with all the strength I can muster, I push him off of me and send us both rolling out of harm's way. The fireball smashes against the tree that I had previously tried to climb, sending it up in dancing golden flames.

I take half a second to notice that we've both tumbled just a few feet away, and I'm straddling his waist and clutching his arm out of desperate fear. Unsurprisingly, he shoves me off of him with renewed force. His eyes are widened with surprise and his lips slightly parted. I can already hear the words he'll be saying next. But this is no time to be speaking of why I had saved his life—I'm sure there will be more fireballs. We must keep moving.

Cato must also know this because when we hear the next hiss, we both flatten to the ground as the fireball whizzes over our heads. It tumbles into the dirt and soon the surrounding leaves and pine needles catch on fire. I look up and see that not only are the trees on fire, but there is also a wall of flames quickly moving towards us. It looks too unnatural—it must have been directly from the Gamemakers.

The heat is all too real, though. The air cackles and the temperature instantaneously leaps several degrees.

"Run!" Cato shouts, pushing me ahead of him. I snap out of my trance and get my legs to move, although my tailbone sharply objects. _Follow Cato. Follow Cato_. I repeat the order to myself and try to block out all other alarms of fear ringing through my head.

As I'm running, my breaths get shorter and quicker. I've got a stitch in my side and my calves are screaming in pain. Fireballs and shooting at us left and right. It's a miracle that I haven't gone up in flames yet. Salty beads of sweat roll down my forehead and I blink quickly to keep my stinging eyes open.

I breathe in as much air as I can in between my short gasps, but the oxygen level is declining. Need air.

"Hurry up!" comes Cato's impatient voice up ahead.

As my brain tries to push out the thoughts of pain, I notice a few things. The fireball that skims across Cato's arm. The deer swiftly leaping through the fallen branches. The smoky haze that shields the details from my sight. I try to move my legs faster, but they seem to be reduced to a wobbly mess.

I collapse on the ground, heaving and clutching my side. Smoke fills my lungs it's becoming harder and harder to breathe. I pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose and hope to find some sort of relief, but my throat tickles and burns even more. I turn over, gagging and then throwing up my barely there breakfast.

Quickly, I glance back up in the direction of the fire and notice that there's no use in getting back up. The fire has already advanced too close.

_How ironic. The girl on fire will die by the element she is so famous for; Fire._

But it doesn't come. I do not feel the burning sensation of fire on my skin. I only feel the strong presence of heat radiating from ten feet short of where I'm lying on the ground. It… stopped.

"Get up," pants Cato. He's not too far ahead of me, leaning against a tree also catching his breath, "We've— got to get back—to the lake," he coughs.

When I don't immediately respond, he glares at me and walks over, bending down to grab my arm and roughly hoisting me to my feet. I'm about to thank him when I stop myself. Isn't he going to kill me? Shouldn't he be finishing the job he had started before the fire?

He only lets go of my arm and walks away. I shakily take a few steps and catch up with him, still breathless and slightly disoriented.

I glance back behind me at the wall of fire to reassure myself that it really stopped. It's oddly quiet; it doesn't cackle or roar like a normal fire. It's just there, almost like the synthetic kind I wore during the chariot ride. The smoke, however, still reaches wafts through the thick air. Its tendrils curl out towards us, as if trying to persuade us to return.

"It stopped," I say quietly. "Right after I fell." Almost as if the Gamemakers didn't want me to die.

Cato completely ignores me, as usual, and continues to walk through the forest. His hurt arm hangs limp at his side. I find myself staring the red, blistered covered flesh. It looks extremely painful, but if it is bothering Cato, he shows no sign of it. His face maintains the straight and almost bored expression he always wears. I don't know how he does it, how he can just ignore pain.

"Staring at it won't make it better, Twelve," he grunts as we traipse through the forest.

I quickly look away, pretending not to hear him.

I remain silent as we continue to journey back to the Cornucopia. The questions run through my head a mile a minute, and the only thing I feel at the moment is confusion. Why is Cato acting like he had never tried to kill me? The image of him holding his sword to my neck is still vivid and fresh in my mind. So… why does it seem he's forgotten it? Is it because I saved his life?

And why the heck did I save his life anyway?

It couldn't have been because I didn't want him to die. After all, he was just about to kill me. The only plausible reason I can think of is the fact that he was above me, about to slit my throat open, and I needed a distraction.

So maybe, in some twisted way, saving his life was the only way to save my own.

* * *

**Cato**

It's quiet. I wonder what's whirring through that dense brain of hers.

It can't compare with what I'm going through; extreme confusion. I was _that_ close to ending her life, and then she saved mine. It was the last thing I had expected her to do. She _could have _just let me die and then she would be free, that idiot.

And the fire. That was definitely provided by the Gamemakers. It's almost as if they didn't want me to kill her, yet. As if the sole purpose of the fire was to keep her alive because it had stopped me from slitting her throat. But why? Does the Capitol seriously crave a good drama? Do they really want me be good allies with Katniss, and then kill her later on? Because if that's what they want, I can do that. Only if it helps me win at the end, of course.

I'm still angry with her for running away, and I still want to slit her throat. But I guess I'll just have to save that for later.

* * *

After another half hour, we reach the Cornucopia. Glimmer and Clove are lazily talking and eating, but they quickly sit up with alertness when they see me.

"What happened?" Clove narrows her eyes at me when she sees the wound.

"Oh, nothing, we just almost died in a forest fire," I say growl, glaring pointedly at Katniss as if it were her fault. Which, really, it was.

"Forest fire?" says Clove skeptically.

"Well, there isn't any burn medicine in here.." Glimmer frowns as she looks through a few backpacks. "And there wasn't any in the stash you hid over in the tree."

"_Forest fire_?" Clove repeats. I can already see the pieces clicking together in her mind— that the Gamemakers were involved and somehow, they wanted Katniss and I to both come out alive. I give her a warning _Tell you later_ look.

"Hey, pass me that water, Glimmer," Katniss suddenly says. I watch her warily as she pours some of the water onto a strip of cloth. She hands it to me, but I can sense reluctance in her actions.

"Put it over the burn. It should help," she murmurs, avoiding my eyes.

I almost choke with surprise. Twelve is trying to help me? Again? What's gotten into her?

An uncomfortable silence settles in and we all stare at her before I snatch the cloth from her hands. I slap it onto my arm and instantly, a cooling sensation greets it, even though it stings like hell. I exhale in relief.

"You're welcome," she finally says. I don't reply. No one does. None of us are used to being helped.

"A thank you would be fine, you know?" she says coldly, turning to go back to the Cornucopia. Normally, I would make some snide remark, but for some reason I don't feel like it.

I can feel Glimmer and Clove staring at me so I just walk away back towards the edge of the forest. I don't really want to talk to anyone right now. In fact, I need time to myself. Time to think.

* * *

**Katniss**

I quell the small triumph that has risen in my chest. _Cato accepted my help. He didn't get angry._ Of course, it doesn't mean anything…just that he must have been in enough pain to accept my offer.

I turn to look back out where he's standing alone, a seemingly small figure in the distance. What is he even doing? Thinking about what just happened? Or..is he just bored? Maybe we're all over thinking and overanalyzing things. Not every little action should mean something more, should it?

I continue eating the rest of my dinner while sitting near the fire with Clove and Glimmer, trying to ignore Clove's heavy complaints about Foxface getting away. I'm not surprised. That girl is too elusive to just get caught.

"It was a freaking trap the whole time!" Clove cries, "Stupid fox girl!"

"At least you had knives to cut through the ropes," Glimmer shrugs, "If you didn't, she would have—"

"Killed us, I know," Clove snaps. She rubs her head tiredly, "I don't need a reminder," she mumbles, and curses again.

Apparently, these Careers don't take failure well.

"Hey, let's get Cato back over here," says Glimmer, "I need some sleep, and he's the only one who'll want to keep watch."

"Fine," Clove says dejectedly, "Cato, get over here! We're tired!"

We hear the exasperated sigh from Cato as he walks back to our fire.

"Fine. But Clove, you're keeping watch with me," he says, giving Clove an undecipherable look. She's probably the only person he can actually talk to without getting angry, although she glares at him anyway.

I go over to my sleeping bag, deciding not to think about Cato. It only makes my brain hurt and distracts me from the real goal—to stay alive and get out of the arena. No, I can't let my enemy distract me, even if I saved his life and I don't know what to do about him.

* * *

**Cato**

We wait until we're positive that Glimmer and Katniss are sleeping before we begin talking.

"So, what's the plan?" says Clove, cautiously scooting closer towards me.

"Plan?" I say blankly. I didn't think that we would have an actual plan.

"Yeah… there's always got to be a plan," says Clove staring at me as if I'm stupid. "You know you can't just go up to her and kill her."

"Fine. So does this mean that we're sticking to the whole betrayal scheme Enobaria told us about?"

Clove thinks for a moment, and then says "If you're willing to act like Lover Boy, then yes."

"We both know I can't." I stab my knife down into the soft dirt, uprooting the grass in frustration. Clove is making this too difficult, as always.

"Well why not? Let's see you at least try. Pretend you like her. Say some nice things about her."

"Seriously? This isn't acting class, Clove."

"You're going to have to do a lot of pretending and acting if you want to put on a good show."

"We'll have to kill of Lover Boy first, anyway. If she's in love with him there's no way she'll fall for this."

"Just. Try." Clove rolls her eyes, getting impatient. I can tell by the tone of her voice that she's still upset over letting the Five girl get away. "Say some random stuff about her, like 'Oh, Katniss has beautiful eyes," or some crap like that."

"Um… okay." –This is ridiculous— "Katniss is actually really nice, you know," I say with false sincerity, "I think that's why I saved her from the fire today. I honestly don't want to see her die." I put on a mournful expression for good measure, which Clove nods approvingly at.

"And she's also sort of cute when she smiles." I know I'm overdoing it now, but it's actually quite amusing.

At this, Clove's face breaks into a smirk. "Oh, so now you _like _her. I always thought you did," she says playing along. I look at her in surprise, but she only winks. "You can't just do this without expecting me to play too, Cato. You know I love these games," she whispers.

"I didn't say I _liked_ her. I just don't want her to die." I put on a modest face.

"You're good," she says unable to contain her giggling.

The audience must be either laughing or worried to death. If they're betting on me to win, they're probably laughing at the fact that Clove and I are discussing how we should kill Katniss while she's sleeping right next to us. But if they're betting on Katniss to win… well, they better hope she's smart.

This acting game is actually fun. I've always been a good liar, and acting is sort of like lying. But it uses more emotion. Emotion is one of my weaker subjects, but I manage to do it when I know it's all fake and it's all an act. Real emotion is different. It's something I hope I'll never have to show in my life.

* * *

**Katniss**

I can't sleep. The worry and confusion sweeps over me as night falls, and instead I lie in my sleeping bag wide awake. I'm turned facing the inside of the Cornucopia so I can't see Cato and Clove, who are murmuring quietly to each other. I wonder what they're saying.

I strain my ears to listen, and I pick up a few words.

"…that's why I saved her from the fire today. I honestly don't want to see her die," says Cato.

It takes a moment for me to figure out who he's talking about. _Saved her from the fire._ Then I register the fact that he's talking about me. Me! Cato just admitted to Clove the fact that he didn't want me to die! This can't be happening. In fact, he was just trying to kill me earlier on today. And now he doesn't want to see me die?

A million thoughts fly through my head, but the only one that remains is a cautious and wary _Why?_ Why does he want me alive?

"And she's also sort of cute when she smiles."

I almost choke on the air I'm breathing. Is the world truly ending or did Cato admit that I was _cute_? I take steady, controlled breaths, but my heart is still fluttering against my chest like a caged bird.

"Oh, so now you _like _her. I always thought you did," says Clove. I can't see her, but I'm positive she's wearing her typical smug grin.

There is no way in hell Cato Carleton, the District Two tribute, likes me. It's beyond impossible. He tried to _kill_ me today. It's just so…uncharacteristic of him.

Then Clove whispers something to Cato that I can't pick up.

"I didn't say I _liked _her. I just don't want her to die," says Cato. Somehow, the statement gives me a sense of relief. So we're not going insane after all; though I still can't believe Cato had just said that, and part of me admits that I wouldn't mind if he actually cared about me…

Oh, what am I thinking?

"You're good." Clove says giggling. _Good_? What is that supposed to mean? Is she trying to tell Cato that he's a good person?

But it all sounds wrong. Cato doesn't seem like the kind of person to care about people, so why is he saying this? A small voice in the back of my head says, _No, it isn't true. He's incapable of caring for anyone. And if he is capable of doing it, why would it be you? _

Nothing makes sense. Cato's sudden change in attitude has set me in a state of perplexity and bewilderment. Nothing makes sense anymore.

There's something along with my confusion that scares me. Somewhere, deep inside of me, there's a spark of hope. I can't deny the fact that I'm hoping maybe, just _maybe_, Cato has it in him. Not compassion, no. I could never imagine him having compassion. But maybe he actually has feelings.

And maybe he isn't the monster we all think he is.

.

**AN: **Hmm, was it too cruel to let Katniss hear only that part of the plan? Let me know what you think!

And can I take a moment to say how much I love "Little Talks"-_Of Monsters and Men_? Seriously, listening to that song on repeat has made my day ten times better :)


	7. Sting Like a Tracker Jacker

**Cato**

Two days go by without anything happening. _Two whole days _of sitting around, eating up the leftover food, practicing with our weapons and combing through the forest. No tributes.

In a way, they were a successful two days. I managed to hold an actual conversation with Katniss without slapping her and cursing her again. We talked about Glimmer's stupidity, though I'm not sure that really counted since it was a topic we both happened to agree on…

It's the fifth day in the arena. Still no signs of life. It's as if we're the only ones here, strangely isolated from everyone else. I'm surprised that a feast hasn't been called yet.

I stretch out my arms tiredly and wince as the burn on my skin flames up again. It isn't so bad anymore but still…Enobaria could have at least sent me some pain reducers.

"So where do you think he is?" Clove interrupts my train of thought.

"Uh, who?"

She rolls her eyes, "Lover Boy, of course. Where is he?"

Typical of Clove, she always thinks I know the answer to every question. But just to resume my position as leader, I say "Let's go back to the woods and check there. Yesterday went well, so maybe we'll find him today. And if we don't get him, we might at least see Eleven."

The rest nod in agreement and I'm glad, because honestly, I'm skeptical of the grain field. That's the last place I want to go. Something's off about it. The tall, rustling plants seem to hide something. Muttations, maybe.

"What about the river? Maybe he's there. I mean, he's got to have water, right?" says Glimmer. I look at her in surprise. Is she actually being…smart? No, not smart—logical.

"What?" Glimmer glares at me, "I'm not entirely stupid you know. I mean, gorgeous, obviously—"

Clove doesn't bother hiding her snort.

"—but brainless, no."

Clove and Katniss actually start laughing at Glimmer, who looks defensive and slightly hurt.

"Okay, whatever. Let's stop wasting time and go already," I say rolling my eyes.

They finally shut up, and we all walk back to the woods. I notice that an awkward silence has already fallen over our little group. Well, Clove and Katniss would never get along with each other anyway, and Glimmer is too annoying to talk to. The only person I can actually tolerate is Clove.

"So how's your arm?" Katniss' voice cuts the silence.

This takes me by surprise. Out of all of us, Katniss is the one who speaks up? Usually she's the quiet, sour-faced tribute who stays near the back of our group.

"Fine," I say. I don't want to elaborate, but I can practically feel Clove's eyes boring a hole into my back. "It's a lot better, thanks," I mumble, even though I know it won't do. I need to be friendlier to gain her full trust.

"I didn't really do much," says Katniss, "What you really need is some medicine."

I refrain myself from snapping at her, _I won't get medicine, because Enobaria knows that I can handle the pain._ Instead, a smirk comes upon my face, "Why do you care so much, Twelve?"

"Because…we're allies, aren't we? We're supposed to _help each other._"

The way she says it makes me sound like I'm guilty of something. I rack my brains for something that I've done recently to upset her. There's the incident where I slapped her, I yelled at her, and then I tried to kill her yesterday… Hmm. Well, there's plenty I'm supposedly guilty for, but if she's trying to make me feel bad for her, it won't work.

Anyways, that was a while ago. She must know that I've somehow changed, even if it's by a small, barely noticeable amount.

"She's right," says Clove, "We should probably start being a bit more," she coughs indiscreetly, "considerate towards each other." She throws me a warning look, which I ignore. If she wants me to be sweet to Katniss she should know that it'll look suspicious if I do so right away. Katniss may be oblivious, but she isn't stupid either. She'll know something's up.

"Well you shouldn't be one to talk, you just—" but before I can finish, Glimmer interrupts with a shrill scream of excitement.

"Look!" she points out above the trees. Not far from here, a steady stream of thick smoke is rising up. I'm surprised we didn't even smell it earlier.

"Come on, let's go check it out!" I say starting to run. The prospect of actually hunting a tribute after two days of nothingness has the adrenaline shooting through my body again.

Before I take off, I hesitate and look back at Katniss. She's still staring at my arm quizzically, but when she catches my glare, she jumps slightly.

"You. Don't even try running away," I growl. She swallows and nods quickly.

"Because this time, I'll make sure you're dead before anything comes to the rescue."

* * *

**Katniss**

_I'll make sure you're dead…_ It was another threat. But an empty one.

I know for a fact he wouldn't want me dead. Not so soon, anyway, and definitely not after he's finally began warming up to me. So if he doesn't want me dead, then why would he threaten me? Does he just want to act this way in front of everyone? Maybe he doesn't want to seem weak in front of everyone, even though that conversation last night was definitely caught on camera.

I push the confusing thoughts out of my head as I follow them towards the smoke. I can only hope that the death of this tribute will be quick. I don't want to see Clove mutilate another body.

We break through some branches and find ourselves in a large clearing, where a huge fire has been lit. There's no one here.

"What's going on here?" Cato mutters. None of us reply. The silence is almost deafening. And… there's something's wrong about this place—the fire shouldn't be this big. And why is it even lit? There is no point in having a fire during the day time.

That's when we realize this must be a trap. I clap my hand to my forehead, why didn't I see it sooner? A fire wouldn't just be lit in broad daylight! I give myself a mental reminder not to call Glimmer stupid anymore if we were all this thick to not realize before.

Then, crashing through the trees comes a rather large object. A humming noise fills the air. It takes me a moment to realize what it is, but Cato seems to understand right away.

"Tracker Jackers!" he yells suddenly, "Run!"

We don't need to be told twice. We run. Cato pushes Glimmer out of his way unmercifully, and Glimmer stumbles to the ground. I almost bend down to help her back up, but Clove grabs my arm and pulls me away.

"Leave her!" she hisses. Then she quickly drops my arm and takes off. I don't look back at the swarm behind me, but I know that they're following us. I hear distant screams and know that Glimmer is gone. There's no way she would be able to survive the stings.

I don't have time to think about Glimmer's death. The tracker jackers are right behind me, buzzing dangerously closer and closer. Wild fear makes my adrenaline rush and my limbs move faster and faster. I feel a sharp pain in my back. One of them must have stung me. I can tell by the way Cato and Clove are jerking around that they have been stung too.

"They're catching up!" Clove screams. "Hurry!"

We run at a faster pace, but the tracker jackers seem intent on following us. I feel another searing sensation in my left arm, and then on my thigh. That's three. Three stings. I faintly remember that it only takes a certain amount of them for the brain to be taken over, and for the poison to reach the heart. How many? Five?

My brain feels like it's melting. The world is fuzzy. I am faintly aware of Cato and Clove running next to me, no, ahead of me. I must have fallen behind. Soon, they turn into birds. The trees around me also transform, until they represent rubbery green walls encasing me, choking me. I see a glassy plate in front of me, catching the sun's rays, distorting them, and blinding me. I stumble into the plate. Then, slowly, I realize that it can't be a plate, that it must be a…a…

My eyes close as I slam face first into the mud, losing myself to the hallucinations.

* * *

**Cato**

Clove and I run until we reach the pond. I know Katniss is somewhere behind us, but I don't really care at the moment. I try to focus on the world—the real world—but it isn't working. Those damn tracker jackers really got to my brain and messed it up.

Keep running, keep running.

Slowly, everything goes out of focus. I'm losing myself to the venom of the stings, but I know I can't stop fighting. Tracker Jacker hallucinations are always the worst. They hurt more than the actual stings. I can't give in.

I splash into the pond, my legs giving out beneath me. I sink down low into the murky water and know that the tracker jackers must have gone by now. They hate water. I sluggishly move my arms through and propel myself upwards. My brain is spinning faster and faster. Once I reach the surface I take in a deep breath of air that doesn't seem to fill my lungs.

The venom is too powerful. Even though I use every ounce of willpower to fight them, the hallucinations sweep in anyway, right after I collapse onto the grassy bank.

.

"_Come on Cato, stop being weak," my father says snidely._

"_But it hurts a lot," I mumble._

_I am suddenly the younger version of myself. The naive, innocent six year old who couldn't lift twenty pounds._

"_Get over it, kid," he growls at me. _

_I only clutch my broken arm in pain. "I can't. I told you—it hurts."_

_Then the inevitable blow comes. The impact of his hand against my cheek sends me falling to the ground, and my arm only gets worse. I wince in pain but I know that I have to get back up._

_Get off the ground._

_Get up._

"_I don't know how I stand you. I'll be so glad when the day comes where you go to the arena."_

"_Yes, father."_

"_Pathetic weakling. I should just ship you off to District 12, where you belong."_

"_Yes, father."_

_He leans in with a scary smile on his face, "Tell me; do you belong in District 12, Cato? Where all the scrawny little children live?"_

"_No. No, father, I don't."_

"'_No, father,'" he mimics. "Well. Then prove it to me." He jostles my broken arm, and smacks my head, making my vision blur. "Get back to the training room, or you'll have worse to deal with than a broken arm."_

"_Yes, father…."_

_._

I open my eyes, and realize that I'm in the arena. The arena. I sit up and look around, squinting at my surroundings. What happened?

Right. Tracker Jackers. Hallucinations. And the flashback.

Fuck, my head hurts like crazy. I look around and notice that Clove and Katniss are also out. They're lying in the mud, only a few feet away from a pond. Thankfully, I was still slightly conscious so I had stopped myself before giving myself a mud facial.

I locate the stings on my body. There are two; one on my hand and another on the back of my neck. I hadn't spent much time at the plants station during training, so I don't exactly remember what plants help with stings. Instead, I grab some mud and slather it on them. Guess I'll be needing it after all.

Ugh, I probably look like some gross freak right now. If only I had some cream…

Enobaria probably won't answer to this, but I can at least try. I look up at the sky with a hopeful face, saying "Enobaria? Got anything for me?"

Nothing comes. I scowl back up in the sky and almost make a rude gesture, but decide against it.

Evil mentor.

I check to see where the sun is, and realize that it's setting. We've been out for too long. Too much wasted time. Plus, I'm surprised that no one didn't just come right up and kill us while we were all unconscious. We would have been easy to finish off.

After a few minutes of just sitting quietly, I open up my backpack to get some food out. I haven't eaten since this morning, and that was only an apple. But when I unzip the bag, I realize that it's stuffed with weapons. No food. I sigh and zip it back up, tossing it back behind me. It splashes into the mud and Clove suddenly jerks awake. Somehow her hand has been clutching a knife the whole time. It's a habit, I guess. She holds it up defensively, but sees the backpack beside her. She breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Cato."

"Yes, Clover?"

She scowls, "Nothing."

I grin at her displeased face. She always hates it when I call her Clover, because she thinks that it's stupid to be named after a plant.

"No, really, what is it?" I ask.

She yawns, and sits up. The mud makes a squelching noise as her body leaves the ground. "How long have I been out?"

"Around twelve hours." I smirk at her appearance, "Why, don't you look lovely."

"Shut up," she snaps, and proceeds to rub the mud off her clothes. But it's a failed attempt, and instead she spreads it everywhere. She groans and buries her head in her muddy hands.

"So Coal Girl is still out, huh? She must've gotten it pretty bad," she mutters.

"Yeah. But not as bad as Glimmer," I say grinning.

Clove lifts her head, smirking, "Another one down! Even though that was like a freebie, it didn't really count," she frowns for a moment. "I was looking forward to ruining her pretty face."

"I swear, Clove, you're such a kid," I roll my eyes at her disappointment.

She's unnaturally quiet for a moment, and stares out into the woods from where we came from. "We all are, right?" she says.

Something about her statement makes me feel uneasy. It's been a while since someone's called me a…a child, or just a kid. It's always tribute, teen, student. I forget sometimes that I'm only seventeen. "Guess so," I mutter unwillingly.

Clove goes back to sleep, deciding she's had enough of speaking with me, meaning I'm left to keep watch. It's extremely quiet. Not even the mockingjays sing tonight. I wonder where Lover boy and the rest are. Maybe I can get them tomorrow. No, I _will_ get them tomorrow. There are no "maybes" when it comes to killing.

After hours of staring at the surrounding trees alone with my unpleasant thoughts, I hear a rustling and squishing noise behind me. I turn and see Katniss is thrashing around. Well, she's conscious.

"Prim," she murmurs in her sleep. Her voice sounds distressed and her face is twisted in agony. I should probably wake her up.

I hesitant for a moment first. Why would I want to help her?

Oh, right, the act.

I sigh and prod at the Fire Girl, who is still squirming around restlessly. She doesn't seem to be responding. I poke her again, but she still doesn't wake up. Finally, I grab her shoulders and shake her roughly. Her eyes fly open and she screams.

I ignore her, and try not to laugh. She looks worse than Clove did—she's completely covered in mud and the wild look in her eyes makes her look quite barbaric.

"Oh…it's you," she says regaining her composure. She blinks a few times and stretches. "What..what happened while I was out?"

"You mean what happened the past day?" I say rolling my eyes. She must have gotten the worst of the stings. She's been out way longer than Clove and I had been.

Her eyes widen, "I was out for a whole day?"

"Pretty much." I say. "Well, less than that. But almost."

"Oh," she says frowning. She tries to brush off the mud on her clothes, but is unsuccessful like Clove. "So…where's Glimmer?" Her voice sounds rough and filled with confusion.

"Wow, you must've had it real bad, Twelve," I say smirking, "She's _dead_."

"Oh," she says again, quietly. "I guess I forgot."

I look at her in surprise. "Well? Aren't you happy?"

"Why would I be?" she says bitterly, glaring at the ground.

"Because one, Glimmer was a bitch. And two, I thought you hated us all?"

"That isn't true," she says in an annoyed yet tired tone. "I don't hate you all." She still flinches when she says it, as if she too is unconvinced.

"Well you sure act like it, fire girl."

She doesn't reply. Instead she turns to looks out towards the woods with me.

I figure that this is the perfect chance to fit in a bit of acting. Maybe if I sound like I care about her and Prim...yes, that should be a touchy subject. It should also get the conversation flowing, which is what I'm hoping to do.

* * *

**Katniss**

"So I heard you saying your sisters name while you were sleeping." Cato's voice softens a bit.

Oh god, no. Suddenly the memories and images of the awful dream come back. I only want to forget it, but Cato just _has_ to bring it up, doesn't he? Why does he care, anyway?

But the memory of what I heard from that night returns, and I decide maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to him. If he possibly (even if it's a very small _possibly_) can care about how I feel, then telling him shouldn't hurt. It hurts enough to keep it all bottled up. How much I miss home and I hopeless I feel.

"Yes," I say carefully, although uncomfortably, "The Tracker Jacker stings gave me some… nightmares."

"Same here," he mutters, and I find myself wondering what his were about. "But I still don't understand," he continues, "Why did you go in and volunteer for her when you were so scared of the Games?"

"I was _not_ scared," I snap, "And to answer your question, I didn't want her coming here. I knew that I would have a better chance making it out, and I loved her too much to have to watch her go into the Games and die that way."

My jaw slackens a little as I realize that I just told Cato, a _Career, _all about my sister and my choice. It's personal and not something I would ever want to talk about with him. So why did I just open up to him about my life?

"Funny, it's an honor for us to volunteer. But for you, it's like—"

"A death sentence?" I supply. It's true. The tributes from our district never make it out of here. If I do, then I'll be legend, along with Haymitch.

Cato looks at me with surprise, but then returns to his normal bored look. "Because you're all so weak," he surmises.

"Oh, I'm sure that's what they tell you, right? They instill it in your brains until you really believe that you're above everyone else. Well, newsflash, Cato; we work hard too, you know." I glare at him. He's making us sound like some district who's poor and disliked only because they're lazy, which doesn't make sense at all. It's degrading, even though we're already at the lowest point possible in terms of economic wealth. No, he's making it sound as if we're too lazy to even deserve anything.

He opens his mouth to retort, but I interrupt before another word comes out.

"We're miners too, except we work 24/7. Yet we practically live in the slums of Panem. Do you know how hard it is to get a meal? Or a weapon to practice with? It isn't my fault I'm not built like Clove, alright? The Capitol doesn't care about us. We don't have any training Academies or systems like you have. So before you start judging me, judging _us,_ make sure you know what you're talking about. Because really, you don't know a damn thing about what it's like to live in Twelve."

I exhale deeply, finally feeling satisfied that I've let off all the buildup and accumulation of anger I've been withholding the past few days. I realize that the whole time, I've wanted to shout all these things at him, but I had always been too scared of what his reaction would be.

A hundred different expressions had flickered throughout his features as I ranted, the first one being shock, but it quickly disappeared, melting into amusement. Then there was annoyance, then anger, then…something like gloom.

But no, I had to have been wrong, because I can't ever imagine seeing him wearing that look.

"Well, life in District 2 isn't exactly like the Capitol, you know," says Cato icily. "We have privileges and benefits, but…" his face falls for just a moment, and I see that same flicker of misery, "But not freedom." The unfamiliar hesitation and sadness fills his eyes, even though just for a millisecond.

I stop to think about his words. Freedom? I've never really considered that. I suppose we have a lot of it in District 12, because I'm free to go hunting every day. Plus, the Peacekeepers don't impose any forms of punishment when someone breaks a law. I'm sure that just by having the Hob we are already breaking dozens of them.

"All we do is train every day. We don't get to do anything other than that. Our other classes are shortened just so we have extra time for physical activities."

"So I'm guessing everyone there is like _you,_" I point out.

Cato's eyes hold a humorous glint, and his smirk returns, "Oh? And what do you mean by that?"

I try to think of some words other than "muscular" and "strong" and possibly "attractive", but I can't. "I mean… everyone must be really good at fighting, and really well-prepared…" My voice falters as I realize how dumb that sounds. Of course they're all well-prepared. They practically volunteer at the reaping every year.

"Yeah, we are. But we weren't always like that," he says, his voice almost inaudible.

I don't quite realize how the conversation has shifted from me to him so quickly, but I can't stop it now. Something about his life, his real life and not the boastful figure he shows off, intrigues me.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone starts off weak, fragile, and new to the system. You have to work your way up," he says, and a distant look comes upon his eyes. "There is no room for failure. Strength is always favored upon. Emotion… is a weakness."

That explains why he always looks like a stone statue with boredom carved into his features. I don't often see him smile, other than his smirks and sarcastic laughs at other people's expense. After years of people telling him not to show anything on the outside, it must have really changed him.

"So when did you start training at the academy?" I ask.

"When I was seven. I started off a year later than others, and my…." He clears his throat, "But that isn't important. So what about you? When did you learn to shoot so well?"

I'm aware of the sudden change of topic, and how he tensed when he talked about his childhood. Is there something he wants to avoid talking about? But I decide not to pester him about it any longer. No matter how curious I am, if he doesn't want to explain, I can't ask and get him angry, putting my life on the line.

"Before my father died. He would show me how to use his bow. I wasn't that good at it, but after he died, I got better," I say. It's hard for me to talk about my father, and I rarely do. But for some reason, I want Cato to understand what my life is like.

"Your father died?" Cato says sounding slightly puzzled.

"Yeah. In a coal mining accident," I squeeze my eyes shut like I always do every time I think of his death. "Blown to bits," I whisper, trembling at the thought of it.

"I'm sorry," Cato says, sounding truly apologetic. I'm taken aback by his sudden sympathy for me, and I open my eyes to see him staring at me with curious eyes. He quickly looks away, and so do I. I stare at the grass, pretending to be interested in it.

"What about yours?" I ask, yanking up a particular clump of grass.

"My what?"

"Your father?"

"He's alive, yes," Cato says, but his voice has hardened and there's a slight hint of disappointment in it. He doesn't says nothing more. There he goes again—building up his walls again so that I can't see what's inside. He's made it clear he doesn't want to talk anymore.

"You should sleep, I'll keep watch," I say half-heartedly. Cato looks at me suspiciously, "I won't run away," I roll my eyes, "It's not like I want you to chase after me and kill me, you know."

"Fine," he sighs reluctantly, and goes to lie down a few feet away from Clove. I try not to stare at him while he's sleeping, but it's hard not to. Especially when he's the only person on my mind right now.

I notice that when he sleeps, his face relaxes and he looks…good. Even with the mud slathered across his neck and the dirt that's gotten into his soft blond hair, he looks better than I've ever seen him. Maybe it's because of the serene expression on his face. It doesn't look forced, like he's trying to hide something.

I shiver when I realize what I'm doing. No. What am I thinking?! He's Cato. He's a killer. The same one who ruthlessly slaughtered six kids on the first day in the arena. A few explanations about his life wouldn't, _shouldn't,_ change my view on him.

Then… why am I thinking about him, and why am I so concerned about him? Maybe it's because he confuses me so much. Every time I learn something from him, he says something else that totally contradicts his previous statement. It's like he has ten different characters, ten different layers and ten different masks he'll put on. The only problem is, it's hard for me to distinguish between what's real and what's fake.

.

**AN: **I tried showing a softer side of Cato here, hopefully he still remained in character. It's just that they're both beginning to see the different sides of each other and I want to start off slowly. I hoped it the next chapter, there will be another tribute death. Any guesses? You'll see soon enough. **Review**!


	8. Completely Stoned

**Cato **

I shouldn't have done it. Fuck, that was too close.

I almost, _almost, _told her. She can't know. No one can.

A small part of me admits that it felt good to tell her. Secrets can't be good for people. They're like a sort of parasite, slowly eating away at me until I'm all empty, just like _them_. And there's no way in hell I'll ever be like them. Maybe I just needed to get the secrets out of me, to be rid of the disease.

Still, it can't be _her. _Anyone but Twelve. Maybe I should lower the level of emotion around her, and increase the physical part of flirting. That shouldn't be too hard. A lot easier than talking to her about my fucked up feelings.

* * *

Memories flood my dreams. A blur of blonde hair, the tired, haggard face and the cold bloodshot eyes. And of course, the alcohol that accompanied everything—the source of the anger and bitterness. Without it, there still might have been hope that things would have been different. That maybe I could have been raised in a normal family, and maybe I could have actually gone to school without the scattered bruises on my back, hidden under my shirt, and the red marks on my face my teachers questioned me about.

Of course, I had been trained to lie.

But it won't be necessary anymore. The damage has been done. It will never happen to me again. The only thing left for me to do is win this thing. Then, maybe I can go home and prove to them my indifference. That I never really cared anyway and they can't bruise me anymore.

Still, my dreams are scarily realistic as they bring me back into the shadows of being in their care. I only want to move on and forget the image of the people who hated me, but somewhere in my deranged head, a part of my memory refuses to let go.

* * *

Clove stirs beside me, mumbling something in her sleep. I open one eye, and then the other. It's dawn. The pinkish soft rays of the sun are just reaching over the treetops of the forest. Katniss is sitting upright staring out into the trees, awake and alert.

I yawn and slowly sit up, running a hand through my muddy hair. I really need to wash up. Maybe when we get back to the lake at the Cornucopia.

The Cornucopia. Great, the few supplies we still had must be all gone by now.

"Wake up," I jab Clove's ribs. Her eyes flash open and she tightens her grip on her knife.

"How long have we been sleeping?" she mutters, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

"A long time, probably," I reply.

"That's ridiculous," Clove groans, and sits up. "I can't believe we slept all day yesterday, and then all night."

"It's the tracker jacker venom," Katniss comments, "It has really bad side effects, like making you extremely sleepy."

"I know that," Clove snaps, "Anyway, why aren't _you_ tired?" she narrows her eyes.

"I slept a lot yesterday. I'm fine," says Katniss absentmindedly. For a second, I think I see her eyes flit towards me. But she continues to stare out towards the forest.

"Well then," Clove says sharply, "We should get going. There are three more tributes out there. We haven't gotten a good kill since the Five girl, and that was forever ago."

"Yeah," I say, "Pack up the supplies. Let's head towards the river. And hopefully there won't be any distractions this time."

* * *

After half an hour of trekking through the forest, we finally get to the river. It's wide, and it quickly rushes by, splashing over rocks. The coolness of the crystal water is refreshing. A good change after suffocating, warm mud.

We decide to rinse off while we're here. I strip off my shirt and let the water run through it, then lay it out on a rock to dry. Katniss and Clove wade in until the water is up to their knees, splashing it up to their arms and scrubbing off the grime and mud.

I can feel Clove's eyes on me as I dunk my head into the water, and will myself not to scowl at her blatant staring.

"Clove, you don't have to undress the rest of me with your eyes, it's slightly disturbing you know," I run my hand through my hair and squeeze out the last drops of water. Her eyes dart away, but she crosses her arms indignantly and then looks back at me with annoyance.

"Alright, Odair, you caught me staring at your absolutely _dreamy _body. Marry me?" she inquires, and I start snickering at her love-struck expression. Even Katniss giggles softly at Clove's outburst. She looks at us both, grey eyes sparkling with amusement, and for some reason, this feels _normal. _Like she's one of us and has been our ally for years.

"Let's forget that ever happened," I say, "I don't want to have the pressure of living up to Clove's eye candy expectations for the rest of the day."

"Oh, don't worry, you've surpassed them," she grins, and I finally shoot her a well-deserved glare.

"Fine," she lifts her hands in surrender, "Oh, I have an idea—let's walk upstream. Looks like there are some caves up there. Maybe they're all hiding out," she suggests, and Katniss agrees.

I scoop up my half-damp shirt and tug it back on, much to Clove's disappointment. We walk upstream like she had suggested and we check in a lot of caves, but we still don't see anyone. There's only the continuous sound of the water splashing over the rocks.

It must be around noon. The sun is directly above us and relentlessly beating on us. It must also be around a hundred degrees, and I'm considering the idea of stripping off my shirt again. But every time I do that, Clove gives me creepy stares….nope, not worth it.

I'm getting impatient now. I hate it when I can't find what I'm looking for. Especially when I know we're so close. There _has _to be someone around here. A river would be the ideal—

"There!" Clove shrieks, pointing back towards the forest. A small figure is seen darting into the trees, and we immediately begin running towards it.

"We're gonna get you, Eleven!" Clove says excitedly. I take the lead and jump across a few rocks, reaching the other side of the river where slippery pebbles coat the bank. I hear Clove and Katniss breathlessly panting and the crunching of their footfalls behind me.

Surprisingly, the girl is fast. By the time we enter the forest, she's out of sight.

"Ugh! Where the hell did she go?" Clove looks around frantically as we enter the forest. Eleven seems to have disappeared. Seriously though, we were right behind her! She couldn't have gone far.

We hear a rustling noise above our heads. We look up and see her perched on a high branch staring down at us. Her big brown eyes almost seem to be dancing with laughter.

"Gonna drop another tracker jacker nest on us?" I sneer at her. Clove frantically scours the whole area for traps, and thankfully, she doesn't find any.

"No," her tiny voice reaches my ears, "but I might send down a swarm of Zabberflies, if you'd like."

I almost laugh at this. I have to admit, she's got a sense of humor. Zabberflies are another Capitol muttation. Similar to tracker jackers, they're flying insects that can cause death. But instead of stinging, they bite and suck all the blood out of you. They were also used during the rebellion. They caused many deaths, but weren't intelligent enough to figure that they should only kill rebels, so both sides suffered severe losses from them. They have been extinct ever since. The Capitol sprayed some sort of gas in all of Panem to exterminate them because they were just too dangerous.

I know for a fact that there aren't any Zabberflies here. It would ruin the Games, because then all the tributes would probably be dead in a matter of minutes. And that wouldn't be very fun to watch.

"I'll go after her," I say to Clove and Katniss. "I've been waiting for this." Finally, I'll get revenge on the girl who dropped that nest on us, and gave me those stupid hallucinations.

"Here, do you want a knife?" Clove offers.

"I'll do better with my sword. Plus, I'm not really into... Art," I say smirking at her. She sticks her tongue out at me.

"Fine. But take it anyway, just in case."

I take the knife from her and stick it into my belt, securing it. Then I start climbing the tree. I can see Eleven up above me, still sitting on the branch staring at me curiously. I wonder if she's just going to sit there while I run my sword through her.

Her gaze is still fixed upon me as I get closer. Thankfully, the tree is big enough so that the branches are strong and sturdy. The last time I had tried to climb a tree, I had fallen, and Clove laughed at me until she could barely breathe. Little devil laughed at me when _she_ was the one afraid of heights.

Finally, I'm close enough to reach the girl. I grab my sword out of its sheath and prepare to swing it at her, a grin already forming on my face, but then she leaps swiftly onto another branch of a nearby tree. What the fuck? How did she do that? I vaguely remember the animal that she reminds me of—a flying squirrel. It's like she's weightless.

She smiles at me tauntingly, and I realize that I can't follow her. The branches are too thin. Damn, if only I had the bow and arrows. But then I remember the knife Clove had so generously given to me. Well, I suppose this will work after all.

"Nice try," I say smirking as I pull the knife from my belt. I can tell she was not expecting this. Her eyes widen as she sees the knife.

"Thresh!" she calls out desperately. "Help!"

Thresh? So he's here too? I decide to worry about it later. I'll get him, too.

I focus back on Eleven, who has just started to scramble higher up the tree. But it's a failed attempt, because even though I'm better off with a sword, my aim is just as good as Clove's. So without wasting another second, I raise my arm and throw the knife.

* * *

**Katniss**

"Do you think he's alright?" I squint up towards the treetops.

"Of course," Clove snaps, "He's perfectly capable of killing the little runt. If you should doubt anyone, it's _her._"

I nod, but I'm silently hoping that Cato doesn't get to Rue. I don't want her to die too. Maybe it's because she reminds me too much of Prim. Her innocent wide-eyed look and petite figure are just too similar to my sister's.

"Thresh! Help!"

I turn my attention back to the tree tops, trying to get a glimpse of what's going on. That was definitely Rue's voice. I suddenly feel nervous and almost scared for Rue. Did Cato get to her?

"Hang on... Thresh," says Clove, her eyebrows knit together deep in thought. She turns to face me. "Get an arrow ready," she says, her voice dead serious. "Now, Fire girl, unless you want to be killed."

I don't question her; Clove always seems to know what she's doing. I pull an arrow out and string it into the bow, poised to attack. Clove grabs a few knives and darts her eyes around the area, alert and waiting.

It's quiet for a moment. We hear a cannon fire, and I'm just about to say something.

Then, a huge figure bursts through into the clearing. He has something large in his hand and it's hard to comprehend what it is at the rate he's moving. Clove throws her knives at him, but he easily uses his object to deflect them.

Clove curses, "Shoot him, you idiot!" she screams at me.

I quickly snap to attention and realize I've just been standing here, watching the whole time. I release the arrow and it lodges into his shoulder. Clove exhales with relief when she sees I've shot him.

For a moment, we're frozen.

He clutches the arrow in his chest, yanking it out. A stream of blood gushes out. He stares at it in surprise, and so do I. The arrow won't kill him, but he's definitely injured. Then he throws the object in his hand right at Clove's head before turning and running off.

She's quick— too quick. She dodges it, and instead I see it coming straight towards me, a hurtling gray rock that looks like it could create a crater in the Earth.

And then, once again, I black out.

* * *

**Cato**

I watch with satisfaction as my knife sinks into the girl's neck. She grabs at it weakly, but it's obvious that there's no turning back. She'll be dead in a matter of seconds.

I gaze into her big brown eyes once more, before I leave. There's something about them that sends chills down my back. She reminds me of someone. Almost like...

I dismiss the thought from my mind. No time for pity here, Cato, I think to myself. She's just another dead tribute.

The cannon fires, signaling the end of her little life. Then I make my way back down the tree, carefully deciding on where to step. It's trickier getting down, and I'm a long way up. As I'm going down, I hear screams. I wonder what is going on. I try to hurry and climb down faster, but I've still got quite a distance to go.

I hear more screaming, and Clove cursing loudly. Whatever it is, it must be really bad. But then again, Clove curses at almost everything.

Then I hear a thudding noise, like the sound of a body hitting the Earth. I go even faster, my curiosity nagging at me. Is it Thresh? Or Lover Boy? Or is it Clove or Katniss? I listen intently for the cannon, but it doesn't come. Whoever it is, they aren't dead. I get down to the last branch, and swing down to the ground.

What I see next takes me completely by surprise. Clove is spitting curse words out, collecting knives on the ground. Thresh is nowhere to be seen. And Katniss...

Fuck, she's on the ground, out cold.

"What happened?" the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"He freaking escaped!" Clove snarls, "He threw a rock at us, and he got away!"

"Why didn't you go after him?" I say, "You're so fucking stupid!"

"I tried, but he just ran off and disappeared!" she fumes with anger. "Plus, I had to wait till you were done with _her_!" She glances up at the branches above us, where Rue's body is being taken away by a hovercraft.

"What about Katniss?" I ask, "What happened with her?" I don't even realize how concerned I am until I find that I'm by her side, inspecting her forehead.

"He threw a rock at my head. But I dodged it and it hit her instead," Clove scowls at Katniss' limp figure.  
I check for a pulse. It's faint.

"She's still alive," I murmur. Her hands are cold, though, and her lids are half-closed. She almost looks dead.

"And why would you care so much?" says Clove suspiciously.

"I.. I don't. I'm just saying she's still alive," I say matter-of-factly. But for some reason, I find that I do care. Just not in the way that I should. I _should_ be glad that she's alive so that I can carry out the plan. But in truth, the "plan" is the last thing I'm worried about at the moment.

I look next to her and see the rock that Thresh must have thrown. "It's not that big," I say turning it over in my hand.

"Seriously? It looked like a meteor when he threw it," says Clove.

I dismiss her comment and chuck the rock far away. I wonder why Thresh had decided to use a rock when he had a sword. I saw him get away with it during the bloodbath. Maybe he's just better off with rocks, like how Clove is with her knives. I make a mental note to myself to avoid fighting with him near the river, when the time comes.

"So you're gonna have to carry her back, aren't you?" Clove says smirking.

"Shut up," I mutter, but it's true. Obviously we can't stay out here— we've got to get back to the Cornucopia. And obviously Katniss isn't going to get there on her own.

I scoop her up and sling her over my shoulder, finding her surprisingly light. Must be all those years of starvation she was telling me about last night. She's quite bony too, which doesn't make things any more comfortable.

"Get my backpack, and let's go," I say ignoring Cloves snickering. I don't know how she can be such an insensible and immature _girl _right now. She picks up my pack, along with hers, and we start walking at a brisk pace back to the Cornucopia.

* * *

We finally get back after half an hour. I dump Katniss down on the ground, but make sure that her head doesn't shake too harshly. I know from all my past experiences that it hurts like hell when your brain gets jostled around right after a head injury. For a brief moment, images of a hand slamming into the back of my head appear, but I quickly push them away.

"What now?" Clove says wearily.

I shrug, "Let's see what we can retrieve from the food bags, if they're still there." They're probably gone—stolen and eaten by animals or other tributes. But we can at least try.

Sure enough, Clove comes back empty handed. "They're gone," she says remorsefully, "And I'm _starving._" She plunks down next to Katniss' body and starts to sharpen her knives.

I sit down on the other side of Katniss' body, picking at the grass. I try not to stare at her, but it's hard not to. I guess it isn't that weird. I mean, she's unconscious so she wouldn't know anyway.

I take in her features for the first time. Normally, I would just glance at her and see her braid and the typical scowl she wears. But now, I see her differently. Her face is relaxed. Her cheekbones softer than I would have thought. Her dark eyelashes are just brushing against the bottoms of her eyes. With pink, slightly chapped lips and olive colored skin tone. It's all so different.

"Cato?!" Clove bursts out randomly. "Don't tell me you're staring at _Twelve_?!"

Damn Clove and her observation skills.

"Course not," I scowl, "I was just looking at her…bruise. I need to figure out how bad the injury is."

The bruise is really beginning to form on her forehead now. It isn't bluish-purplish yet, since it's new. Instead, it's a swollen red. It looks really bad…if only we had something to help it.

"We need to make sure she doesn't sleep," I say, "When she's conscious again, we can't have her take any naps. At least, that's what I remember from Stonesworth."

"Ugh, don't remind me of that place." Clove rolls her eyes. "It was torture."

"I know, good thing we don't have to go back." The statement can be taken in a positive or negative way. One of us might be the victor. We could live in Victor's Village, never having to go to Stonesworth Academy again. Or, we could be dead, which is more likely to happen. Either way, we won't be going back to the Academy ever again.

"So what are we gonna do with her?" says Clove, gesturing towards Katniss. "I mean, we know the general idea of the plan, but how exactly do we get to kill her?"

I hadn't thought of that yet. Maybe it's because I don't want to think about it.

_But you should. Cato, you should be excited about figuring out how to get rid of her. Haven't you been waiting for this?_

Great. Now I'm talking to myself.

"Clove…" I say, "How would you like the honor of killing Fire Girl?"

At this, Clove's eyes widen until they almost resemble dinner plates. "Cato. No...no, no, wait. Are you _serious_?"

"Yeah," I say. Even I'm kind of surprised at what I just said.

"But.." Clove says looking confused, "You've wanted her. You've been claiming her as your kill ever since the beginning. And now, you're letting me do it?"

"Yeah," I say again. Clove's right, though. It'll come off as suspicious if I suddenly say I don't want to kill her. I stare back at her limp figure, lying on the ground. Have I grown too into character? Worry comes over me as I remember the words all the trainers at Stonesworth told me. _Never show any emotion, Cato. It's dangerous. It'll just come right back at you and bite you. _Are they all laughing at me now, saying that I'm growing soft? Maybe they think I even _like_ Fire Girl. No, I can't have all of Panem think that. I have a reputation to maintain, after all.

"Well, I never said I wasn't going to take part in it," I say managing to pull off a smirk. "So here's the deal. I distract her, and say a bunch of sappy stuff that she'll probably believe. Then you get her in the back with your knife. Understand?"

Clove grins easily, "Now you're sounding more like yourself. For a moment, I was worried that—"

"Worried that I had changed my mind?" I raise an eyebrow, questioning her. She shuts her mouth and shakes her head. "Because, no. Why would I?" And to prove it, I let somewhat of a devious grin come upon my face. I want everyone in Panem to see this. "You know I've been waiting for this, Clove. I'm not going to ditch the plan. You know I'm not that person."

By "that person", I had meant the person I didn't want everyone to see. That same person who felt something called "guilt" when he killed Rue. The person who trembled at the mention of his family. The person who just might hope for this Twelve girl—

My thoughts are cut short as I hear a soft mumbling noise.

"Speak up, Clove." I roll my eyes, "Honestly, even Haymitch makes more sense than you when he's drunk."

"What? I didn't say anything." Clove snaps.

Then it dawns on us. We both turn to look at Katniss, who is lying on the ground in between us. Her eyes flutter open, revealing soft gray irises.

"You're awake. Finally." I smirk at her confused expression. But my smirk falters as I realize that her expression isn't changing. She still looks puzzled. Bewildered. Mystified.

"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly feeling concerned. She looks different. Her eyes seem to be unfocused.

Finally, she opens her mouth to speak again. Her voice is hoarse and she coughs a little, before repeating herself.

"Peeta?"


	9. The Show Goes On

**Katniss**

He reminds me of Peeta. He has the same blonde hair, blue eyes, and stocky frame. But the hair is lighter and it's spiky, the eyes are colder, and he's taller with more muscle. I try my hardest to remember the name. It's on the tip of my tongue, but when I try to recall it, my head only pounds and spins.

"No.. It's me, Cato." he says slowly. His eyes search mine, and I feel a small shiver go up my back. They're beautiful. Icy cool blue eyes that would probably melt any girl's heart. But I would never admit it.

It's silent for a moment. I stare at them, and they stare at me, a look of shock on their faces. I suddenly feel uncomfortable and instead look away from the pair, a million questions wanting to burst from my mouth. I keep my lips pursed.

I look around my surroundings. I'm in the arena. That much, I know. We're right by the Cornucopia, and the lake is to our left. But I can't remember who this boy is, or who the girl next to him is either.

And why am _I _here?

The two of them glance at each other, sharing some sort of silent exchange. They look a bit worried.

"Hey, Twelve," the girl says scrutinizing me. I don't like how they are suddenly staring at me. It makes me feel vulnerable. I don't know them, so I don't know if they're threats or not.

Twelve. The name rings a bell. Was that my nickname?

"Yeah?"

The girl visibly relaxes. "Oh, good. You know your name. It's me, Clove."

Yes, I do know my name. It's Katniss Everdeen. So that means Twelve must be my nickname. Well that much makes sense, judging from the fact that it's also the name of my district.

But why am I here with them? And who are they? And why won't they call me by my name?

"What—I mean—who are you?" I ask her. For a moment she has a look of surprise on her face.

They both ignore me. "So Twelve, how much do you remember?" the boy asks critically.

I try and think of everything I know. The train ride to the Capitol. The chariot ride, where I was named "Girl on Fire". The interviews where Peeta declared his love for me, and I twirled in a dress made of fire. And then...

But that's it. Everything after that is sort of a blur.

"I don't know how I got here," I say. "I'm in the arena, I know that, but…"

Everything is foggy. I sort of remember a few things. The color of the boy's eyes is too familiar. The itching feeling on my thigh is also a bit familiar, and I wonder what it is. I wonder why I remember the little things. I wonder what has happened.

"But other than that, I don't understand," I say, shaking my head.

"Oh," says Cato, with... Is it disappointment? No, it isn't. "You've lost your memory, fuck."

"Well is anyone going to tell me what happened? I wake up and find myself here in the arena with two strangers… And who are you all anyway?" I ask. I notice that my voice is hoarse and scratchy. How embarrassing.

"We've been in the arena for a few days now. This is our seventh," says Cato slowly, as if he's explaining something to a child. "And you've been in our alliance ever since day one." He pauses, as if debating whether or not to say something. "We're from District Two, if you don't remember."

Two. Careers. Enemies.

The words flash through my mind one by one, and I'm starting to wonder why the hell I'm with them, and not alone like I should be. Suddenly, the faces of my allies seem a lot more dangerous.

"Anyways," Cato continues, "Everyone's dead except for Thresh, the guy from Eleven, the girl from Five, and Lover Boy. Earlier on today, Thresh attacked you and Clove while I was up in a tree chasing after the girl from Eleven."

I don't reply, and look down at the ground instead. This is so frustrating, not remembering. How can I really trust them? Who are they, really? Why does my head feel like it's been trampled on by a herd of elephants?

"Anyways, Thresh threw a rock and it hit your head. It wasn't that bad. I mean, the rock was pretty lightweight. But still, a hit from an object at the speed he threw it at has to be pretty forceful."

I nod, letting the information sink in. It's hard for me to believe that all this happened, especially when I barely know these tributes. They're the last people I would think of if someone told me I'd have allies in the arena. How in the world did I ever agree to ally with them?

I wonder what they are like. I remember from training that Clove, the Two girl, is really good with knives, and Cato can practically destroy anything with a sword. But other than that, I don't know much about them. And the more I think about Cato, the more I want to know about him.

That bit scares me.

Before I can open my mouth to ask another question, we see a metal object floating down from the sky.

"A parachute!" Clove exclaims excitedly.

"About time, Enobaria," Cato scowls up into the sky. "These stings have been driving me crazy."

Stings? What stings?

Clove snatches the parachute and opens it up. "Oh," She wrinkles her nose and holds it away. "It's medicine. It must be for Twelve. Here, catch." She tosses me a small bottle of liquid medicine.

"Damn, I thought Enobaria was actually being generous," Cato grumbles.

I unscrew the lid and look inside the bottle. I've never seen it before, so it must be some fancy Capitol medicine. I wonder how much this cost Haymitch. Probably a lot, since we're so far into the Games.

"First parachute you've gotten, Twelve," says Cato. "Your mentor's pretty conservative."

"What do you think it is?" Clove inquires, scanning the outside of the bottle for a label. But it's blank.

"Maybe it's for my head," I say, finding that my voice is still rough.

There aren't any dosage instructions for taking the medicine, so I tilt my head back and down the whole thing. It tastes slightly of strawberries, but other than that, the flavor is quite bland.

Then I feel it. It's a strange spinning sensation in my head, not much different than the one I had gotten when I woke up a few minutes ago. My brain starts to hurt and I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel extremely dizzy.

"You alright, Twelve?" Cato's concerned voice comes from somewhere to my left.

"Uh, yeah… I'm— I'm fine." My speech begins to slur as everything becomes blurry.

"Oh, god. Is she gonna pass out again?" says Clove groaning.

"Maybe Haymitch gave her sleep syrup," says Cato.

It can't be sleep syrup. That wouldn't help, would it? Plus, sleep syrup tastes much sweeter than whatever I just drank.

But then I feel it. The dizziness is slowly going away, replaced with images that run through my head crazily. It feels like my brain is being pulled at left and right, tugged around and jerked from one memory to another. Cato holding me in a death lock briefly appears, which gets me wondering what had happened. Our short and to the point conversation is repeated in my mind answering my questions. Then I'm in the Cornucopia, I'm shooting an arrow at a girls neck. I'm talking to a blonde girl, getting stung by tracker jackers, talking to Cato while keeping watch. The story unravels as I watch what seems to be a replay of the events during the past week.

The replay only lasts for about a minute when suddenly, it's all back. Everything. I know who everyone is, I know who has died so far, I have gained back the confusion I felt the night before about Cato. It's all back, as if nothing had ever changed. As if I didn't lose my memory from the rock.

"Hey, what happened?" says Cato, concern lacing his voice,

I turn to look at him, blinking a few times. "I remember it all," I say, "I remember everything now."

I definitely remember how he had confused me with his sudden burst of kindness the other night while he was talking to Clove. How he had admitted he didn't want me to die, and how we actually had a real conversation last night. It's so hard to believe that just moments ago, I had no idea who he even was. And now, I know everything. It's like I left for a moment, and then was jolted back harshly into the real world of feelings and killing.

Feelings and Killing. Interesting combination.

"That's good," he says smirking as usual. His voice drops a level. "Because there were some things I was hoping you wouldn't forget."

"Like what?" I whisper back. Could he possibly mean...does he know...ugh! Why does he have to be so secretive?

"What are you two whispering about?" Clove says annoyed.

"Nothing," Cato says, "Just asking Twelve how her memory was."

"Which is fine, now," I add. "The medicine was to heal my memory after all. And to heal my head, I guess." I gently tap my forehead on the spot where the rock collided into my skull, and find that the pain is slowly receding. I find myself once again marveling at the magical medicine.

"Good," Clove growls, "I'm sick of treating you like some baby that needs special attention all the time."

"Okay? Thanks a lot," I mutter_. You're the baby here, Clove. The little brat who always has to get what she wants._

"Cato, we need food," Clove pouts, "I haven't eaten since yesterday."

I almost snort at her request. Cato, hunting? I doubt that District 2 careers even know how to hunt for food. Hunting animals is much different than hunting children—you'd have to be patient and silent. I can't see Cato being any one of those.

"I'll go," I volunteer, slinging my bow over my shoulder.

Clove grabs my arm, glaring at me. "You're staying here. Plus, you just healed. You shouldn't be going anywhere."

Oh, so now Clove is worried about my well-being? This is new.

"No, let her come," Cato looks at me amusedly. Clove gives him a strange look. So do I.

"Let's go," says Cato, bringing a few spears. He glances at me expectantly.

"Fine. She can go. But hurry back." Clove whines, "I'm—"

"We know," says Cato scowling.

"Starving," I finish, and Cato flashes a grin at me. I feel a jolt in my stomach, but ignore it. Hmph. I must be really hungry.

We both leave Clove and tell her to get a fire going, which she makes a face at. If she keeps doing that, I'm sure her face will be permanently distorted.

"Only if you bring back a bunch of food," she demands.

"That, I can do," I say, relieved that at least its animals that I'm hunting and not children.

* * *

**Cato**

We walk through the forest once more. It's afternoon, but there's already a chill settling into the air. The Gamemakers must be purposely bringing the temperature down as quickly as they can. I guess the more variety and interesting factors there are in the Games, the better it is to watch.

"See anything?" Katniss murmurs quietly.

"If I did, it would be dead by now, wouldn't it?" I smirk.

"Stop bragging," she scowls, "You've probably never even had to hunt in your life."

Actually, I have. Quite often. Back at home, mother would always be... somewhere else. And Stonesworth was never generous enough to give out filling meals- only enough to keep us healthy and alive. Everything else was up to us and our families. And because of my parents' lack of parenting skills, I had to take things in my own hands. Sure, it was risky. It was obviously against the law too. But it was the only thing I could do on the nights when my parents were too drunk to care, and I needed to be alone. The woods were my getaway, my private training area.

"Hmm," is all I say. It's fun to keep Fire girl guessing. Plus, I don't exactly want to say that I have hunted before, when the District 2 Peacekeepers are surely watching this at the moment.

"Shh," Katniss holds her hand up to my chest, and I momentarily stop breathing. She points up at some sort of bird up in a tree. It's brown and plump. It almost looks like a turkey.

She notches an arrow into place and shoots the bird down at a lightning fast speed. It falls with a thump, the feathers of the arrow still slightly trembling.

I pretend to look really impressed, because this is the perfect time to squeeze in some more acting.  
"You're better than I thought, Twelve." I say as she goes over to collect the arrow.

"Why thank you, Two," she says sarcastically. "Wish I could say the same for you, but..." she trails off smirking at me. For a moment, I'm stunned at her teasing reply. She usually takes a more defensive stance around me, but now…

"We'll see," I say, and can't help but grin at her.

She really has loosened up around me. That's the goal I guess. Have her trust me, befriend me even, before I backstab her. It's been the goal all along. But... It's starting to feel wrong. It's starting to feel too real.

"Hey, look," she says pointing again. There, waddling along in front of us, is another one of those huge ugly birds. But before she can string an arrow into her bow, I throw my spear at it.

It finds it's mark. But I'm not looking at the bird, I'm looking at Katniss. Surprise is written all over her face. Grey widens as it goes from the bird, to the spear, and then to me. When they meet mine, I feel my breath hitch slightly, but quickly cover up with a look of boredom.

"What, didn't expect me to take your kill?" I say.

She shakes her head. "I'm amazed, the mighty Cato Carleton just killed a bird," she snorts.

"What?" I scoff, "I just got you your dinner!"

Katniss laughs. A genuine laugh that I've never heard before, and for some reason, makes my chest hurt. Well, that's another thing to add to my list of new experiences.

"You act like I should make a big deal out of it, when I've seen you do worse. You've killed countless tributes, but when you kill a bird, you turn to me expecting me to be impressed?"

"Well you're the one who said I've probably never hunted before," I say. "And that's proof I have." I point to the dead bird.

"Oh I see," Katniss says, "You just can't stand the idea of not being good at something."

"That's not true," I retort, but I guess it is. I hate it when someone says I can't do something. Even if it is just a Twelve girl saying that I can't hunt. I always have to prove them wrong, and that I'm better than whatever they think of me.

"So you think it's enough?" I say, walking over to the dead bird. I pluck the spear from its body and pick it up by the neck, bagging it.

"Well, assuming that Clove has waited long enough for us, yes," says Katniss, a trace of a grin still on her lips.

"Don't get too happy, Twelve. And stop smiling at me like a crazy idiot—God, you look worse than lover boy."

As soon as I say it I know that I've hit a sore point. I know that she misses him. They loved each other, after all. No, they're "star-crossed" lovers. The term is so sappy, it sounds like it belongs in some old romantic novel. It's like they would do anything to be with each other. Though I've always wondered why. Why would a strong, independent girl need a lover? Why would a baker, out of all people, gain the love of a girl who wore Fire as if it were an everyday item? The question always baffled me. Something seemed different about their relationship. I just can't place it. Not that I would know anything about love, anyway.

Katniss is silent. Probably completely worried over him, now that I've mentioned him. The temperature seems to have dropped ten degrees, and there is only the sound of crunching leaves underfoot. It's uncomfortable, and completely awkward. How do I act now? Do I act like the flirtatious, the seductive, the killer, the bored and arrogant, the sincere, or…me? I don't even know what the real me is like. The masks have slowly shaped my true self, altering it until I've become "Cato Carleton", who would do anything to win the Games.

But would I really do _anything_? Killing Clove would be like killing a sibling. But we all know that if she were to be in the way, I would have to do it. And what about Katniss? When do I get rid of her? And why do I keep stalling? The plan is going perfectly well so far. Only the last step needs to be executed. Everything else has been played nicely. My fake concern over her, our easy conversations, and even the occasional hint of friendship. I know it's all fake. I know that Clove and I are creating more drama, and by doing so, we have more sponsors.

But although I'd never admit it, a part of me whispers that it isn't all fake. Some of the conversations Katniss and I have had were real. Some of the moments were real. Except…everyone thought it was just part of the plan. That she's played into our trap. And now, all I have to do is part three—the backstabbing part.

* * *

**Katniss **

He had to bring him up. Peeta, the main reason I'm so famous, so desired. Peeta who is no doubt somewhere in the arena, half alive. The boy who makes me feel guilty even as I'm traveling back to the Cornucopia, comfortably joking around with Cato, who I remind myself is the real enemy.

The enemy…what had Peeta said about the Careers? That they were our enemy? That they're vicious, evil tributes who shouldn't be trusted? The words slowly fade from my mind as Cato fills my thoughts once again. He isn't all bad after all. He may be arrogant and self-centered, but I no longer see him as evil. He can't be.

No, stop it. Why am I feeling like this? Like I should suddenly befriend him and care for him? I shouldn't. It's wrong! No tribute from Twelve has ever allied with the Careers, and here I am being _friendly_ to Cato, the ultimate example of a well-trained killer.

Finally, we get back to the Cornucopia. Clove is impatiently pacing back in forth in front of a fire. When she sees the huge birds we're holding, her eyes light up.

"Ooh, yes! Food! I'm _starving_."

I swear, if she says that she's starving one more time, I will personally challenge her to a duel to the death. I doubt she even knows what it's like to be starving. She's probably been well-fed her whole life, eating fancy dishes the wealthy academies had to offer.

We cook the birds until they're well done, and even manage to find a bottle of sauce for them. It's delicious. I haven't had fresh meat in days. Even back at home, we would have rabbits or squirrels to eat. But I haven't done any hunting until now.

"So…what exactly am I eating?" Cato says skeptically, and Clove stares at the meat, vigorously chewing her food.

"I 'on know," she opens her mouth to talk "'ut i' 'astes good."

"You're disgusting, Clove." Cato says shaking his head, as Clove embarrassingly tries to close her mouth which has pieces of meat almost falling out of it. She puts on a haughty expression, no doubt trying to appear dignified.

I can't help but laugh at her, no matter how much I despise her. She seems to be like a chameleon like Cato. It's like she can be a mean killer one minute, and a bratty, immature little girl the next.

After finishing our meal, we wrap the rest of the meat up in some foil. It's getting late. The sun has already set a few minutes ago, and the first stars are beginning to appear. I lie down in the soft grass, resting my exhausted body. I haven't even been awake a full twelve hours, but the entire effect of the past few days has come crumbling down on my shoulders.

Cato comes to join me, which surprises me. He sits next to me and stares off into the distance. As we sit quietly, peacefully, I realize how drowsy I feel. Maybe it's because of the medicine. A delayed side effect, possibly.

I glance over at Cato. He looks better like this. He looks like a normal person, almost. His eyes are gently closing, and he appears to be relaxed. The wind ruffles his blonde hair, leaving it messily undone. But still, it sticks up stubbornly, refusing to be put down. My eyes travel back down across his fair skin, straight nose, to his cheekbones, perfect jaw, and…lips…

Oh, what am I doing?

I feel myself slowly giving away to the medicine. My eyes begin to droop with tiredness, and my breathing slightly slows. Soon, I know for sure I'll be fast asleep.

The last thing I feel is the soft touch of a hand brushing against my cheek, driving me insane. I shiver. In the back of my mind, a name rings out. It's Cato. I'm so drowsy, I might have imagined it all. But I can't have imagined it because I still feel it. A faint smile maybe appears on my lips, because I hear a quiet chuckle coming from Cato. He says a few words that I don't catch, because by the time he says them, I'm completely out of it.

* * *

**Cato**

"And the show goes on."

I say it quietly, knowing that she won't hear me. She probably wouldn't understand, anyway. I find myself staring at her once more. Maybe it's just to get a last glimpse at the creature they call the Girl on Fire. Maybe it's because she's so different, and I've never met anyone like her.

I quickly withdraw my hand from her soft cheek, where it's been resting. What the _fuck_ did I just do? Did I just…touch her face? Oh god, now the whole country must be scrutinizing me, calling me pathetic.

Then I remember that it can all pass off as an act. I was only touching her cheek as a gentle reminder that I was "on her side". It was all part of the plan. They must love the fact that I'm such a good actor, that I'm getting so in character.

Even though what I had done was in no way at all planned.

Part of me says it was completely weird, but another part says that I just had to do it. I don't know why.

But in the end, the last part of me is hoping she might've felt it, and hoping that it's what caused her to smile.

.

**AN: **Finally, I've updated! Actually, it hasn't been that long. It's just felt like a while. Seriously though, I have so much school work to do every day, it feels like forever since I've last written. But thanks for all the support and amazing reviews! It's all helped me so much, and I know it'll help me even more when things get busier and crazier.

Anyways, please hit the review button and leave a comment/suggestion! I know a lot of you only read this and go to the next chapter, or fav and follow, but I would really appreciate feedback on my writing. I'm trying to improve it but time is really an issue here. I'll try my hardest to update soon, but you know, reviews can always help! ;)


	10. Train Hard, Kill Hard

**Cato**

"Why is it that every time we head out towards the river to look for Lover Boy, _we_ always get hurt instead?" Clove complains as we trample over the fallen sticks and leaves that litter the forest floor.

"I don't know, maybe it's because every time you open your damn mouth, Clove, anyone within a five-mile radius could hear you." I snap at her. Seriously, she needs to just shut up sometimes. But she's right. All our previous attempts at hunting down tributes have failed miserably.

Her lips tighten into a thin line, and she stares ahead with an angry expression. She's obviously craving for another toy, another victim to play with. She'll just have to wait.

We've been out here for a while now. Still no sign of anyone. Well, at least that little girl is dead; she was just too sneaky with her little traps. I'm sure nothing will happen to us today.

"So if we find him…then what?" says Katniss. Her tone is impassive, but when I look closely at her, I notice that there are small lines of worry etched in her forehead. She obviously doesn't want to hear the answer, although Clove says it anyway.

"Well its obvious isn't it?" Clove snorts, "We kill him. Preferably in the most gruesome way possible."

I don't particularly like Clove's idea. I'd rather kill someone off as quickly as possible (unless I really hate them) and move on, but I can't argue with her. This is her idea of fun, and she'll hate me if I protest.

Clove's story is interesting. Maybe not as interesting as mine, but still, she was different than all the other kids in our district. She grew up in a typical District 2 family. A hard-working father, strict mother, and competitive siblings. She started going to Stonesworth at age four. I lived down a few blocks from her house, so I would see her often. Everyone knew her as the little girl who always got what she wanted. She was obviously her father's favorite child, and he would have given her the world, if he could. Unfortunately, we couldn't say the same about her mother. The two of them shared as much love as me and my parents did.

Everything changed the year her father died, because that was also the year her beloved brother was reaped. She was eight, he was fifteen. Her brother, Rolland, was in the Career pack of course. I remember watching that year's Games, placing bets with my friends on who would win and avoiding my parents as much as possible. Everyone was laughing, joking, jeering at the tributes. We were all so involved, but Clove only stared at the screen, clutching a knife. I don't know why she had chosen a knife—she had somehow gotten a hold of it. Swiped it from her father's old stash, probably.

Then it was down to the last three tributes; Rolland and the District 1 kids. He killed the girl, but he had thrown his only weapon—his spear. He was left defenseless and was slain by the sword of the District one boy.

The TV had busted into electric sparks and the screen cracked as Clove threw the only thing she was holding—the knife—directly at it. Her screams filled the house and she had run to her room in a sobbing mess. Everyone was shocked. No one had dared to comfort her.

It tore her apart. She went crazy in a way. Ever since watching her brother's death, she's been focused on only one thing—getting to the Games and winning it. Every day at the crack of dawn she would be in the courtyard at the academy, practicing with her knife. She had said she only wanted to focus more on training, but we all know that it was her way of letting her anger, despair, and resentment out.

So that's how I got to know her. I would go there too, but for different reasons. We were called crazy at first. _Crazily focused on training_. But soon, people stopped calling us crazy and started realizing that we would be their future victors. It felt good to show them what we were capable of.

"Cato, duck!" Katniss suddenly exclaims, breaking me away from my thoughts.

I instinctively flatten to the ground. A _whish_ indicates that a knife has just sailed over my head, and I hear it lodge into an oak behind me. I glance up at the direction it came from, and who do I see out of all people? Peeta. He's standing there looking quite determined. He has a sword in one hand, a knife stashed away in his belt, and his other hand is empty.

"Why, look who it is," I say getting up and smirking. "The little Lover boy."

I wait for him to say something, or maybe charge at us with his sword. Instead he just stares at Katniss with an expression of hope.

Oh, right, Katniss. I forgot about her.

"Why did you stay with them? Why didn't you just escape?" he whispers to her, his eyes looking incredibly innocent and sad.

Katniss quickly glances at me nervously, and then looks back at Peeta, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. "I…I tried. But I couldn't," she mumbles. Strange, this isn't what I'd expected to happen. I thought Katniss would go all lovesick-tribute and hug him, breaking down into tears and claiming how much she's missed him. Instead, this is just plain awkward. I can tell from the look on Peeta's face that he wasn't expecting this to happen, either.

"So? Whose side are you on then?" Peeta says coldly. "Theirs or mine?"

Really, I should just kill the fool now. If he were smart, he would stop talking and start fighting. But I'm too interested in what will happen. So is Clove, because she's watching the scene intently as if it's a Capitol soap opera. May as well be.

But…if Katniss decides to be on his side, it'll mean all my hard work has been for nothing. All my efforts at trying to gain her trust, to befriend her even. It'll all have been wasted.

I feel a slight pang of something. Is it…jealousy? No, why would I be jealous of Lover boy? What does he have that I don't? A small voice in my head answers _Katniss_, but I push the thought away. That's ridiculous. Why would I want a Twelve girl? I already have her anyway.

Katniss bites her lip and stares at Peeta with remorse. "I'm sorry.." she says. It takes a moment for me to register her meaning. She's on our side. Meaning that she's fallen for it all, for all the lies and the stories and the crap I've made up.

Dammit! Why do I feel so guilty all of a sudden? I should be happy, I should be proud, I should be throwing Peeta a smug grin, but all I can do is maintain my blank expression. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Clove is also confused. We all seem to be staring at Katniss for a moment when suddenly, a silver object comes flashing at us.

It's another one of Peeta's knives. We must have all been too distracted by Katniss' previous statement, because I'm off guard when the knife slices into my shoulder. I try not to yell out in pain. Instead, my body jerks as a response and my hand goes to my shoulder. It honestly hurts like hell. I yank it out and toss it to the ground, blood splattering into the air.

Then time seems to considerably slow. Right when Clove reaches for her knives, I pull out my sword. It's a short blade, but it's wickedly sharp. Katniss slowly backs out of the way, and Clove grips about a dozen of her knives, preparing to throw them.

Still clutching my bleeding injury with one hand, I finally deliver the long awaited smirk that rests playfully on my lips.

_It's on, Lover Boy._

* * *

**Katniss**

Betrayal. It's the last thing I see in his eyes right before he pulls out a knife and hurls it toward Cato. I almost scream in surprise as the knife sinks into Cato's shoulder, but he only winces and yanks it out. He and Clove grab their weapons as Peeta advances with his sword. Meanwhile, I've noticed that I've backed up against the tree, watching it all happen. My heart is thumping against my chest and my breathing increases with nervousness. But why can't I do anything? Why can't I pull a single, perfect arrow from my sheath and notch it? Because I wouldn't know who to shoot it at.

I don't love Peeta. I don't. It's the truth, and I just showed it to everyone by saying I wasn't "on his side". How could I say it, with Cato staring at me so intensely? For some reason, it would all feel wrong. Then again, I don't want Peeta to be killed. I'm torn.

Ugh, how could he be so _stupid_? Why did he have to come _now_?

Unless….

Unless it's a trap, just like all our other attempts at hunting tributes have been.

The Careers are strong, yes, but reckless. They don't plan one step ahead. They see, they kill. They don't think things through and look for more behind the front cover of a story.

With new terror sinking in my heart, I scan through the rows of trees and search for something; anything to indicate that this was all a trap.

My eyes land on one specific tree. There's nothing behind it, but when I look up…there, situated on a lean branch and holding a double edged spear...with sly features and a cunning grin.

So the Fox can climb.

She doesn't see me watching her because she's too busy watching Clove, who's watching Cato and Peeta's sword fight Clove is scowling. She's trying to determine which way to throw her knives and unable to guarantee her hit. Metal flashes here and there in the sunlight and I wince when Cato's arm gets cut again.

I turn back to the Fox and realize that she's aiming to throw her spear right at Clove. For a frozen moment, I wonder what would happen if I just let her throw and pretend I never saw her. Clove would die, I could possibly help Peeta if Cato gets distracted by Clove, and I could join the alliance with Peeta and the Fox. Then we could easily fight Cato by working together, and…

That isn't how an alliance works, though. There is no betrayal.

Without another moment of hesitation, I notch an arrow and release. It hits its mark and sinks into the girl's chest. Her eyes fly wide open with surprise.

_Boom, _her death is signaled and for a moment, everyone looks up wildly as if one of us had been injured. During the moment of distraction Cato pins Peeta under him. I don't know how he did it when his shoulder seems to be completely useless at the moment. Clove runs over and stabs one of her knives down on into Peeta's chest, and he yells in pain. My hand flies to my mouth in surprise. I restrain myself from screaming too.

"Oh, so close to the heart," Clove murmurs, "That's where it should be, right? After all, it's broken anyway, now that your little Fire Girl doesn't love you back." She grins at him and leans in closer to his face, inspecting it. I wonder where Clove get's these witty lines from. They always seem to come out of nowhere.

Cato has backed out now, probably down with his job."Where should I start?" Clove croons into his ear, holding an almost delicate knife above his face menacingly.

I can't have this happen. I can't let a friend be tortured like this. I may not love Peeta, but that doesn't mean that I want to see him be treated so harshly. If only things could be over with a snap of my fingers…If only everything could just end…If only I weren't pressured to make any decisions…

"Stop it," I say aloud, and Clove whips her head around to face me. She tilts her head, scrutinizing me.

"Oh? Or am I wrong? Does Fire Girl still love you?" she asks Peeta not bothering to hide the excitement building up.

I'm slightly aware of Cato eyeing me, waiting for my response. But what do I say? Do I say the truth? Or do I still stay true to the "star-crossed lovers" story Haymitch has made up for me?

"Just kill him now." I plead, "Don't do this to him. He doesn't deserve it. Please. He'll die soon anyway, since…" I don't say it. Instead, I look at Peeta. His expression has softened by a fraction, but he still looks at me with distrust. "I'm so sorry, Peeta," I say again, wanting him to know how much I mean it. I would have allied with him, if it weren't all for Cato. Everything would have been so different. He has to know it isn't my fault.

"I don't know why you didn't just join us," He manages to say while breathing heavily. We all stare at him. So maybe he doesn't know it's not my fault. But that's not what confuses me.

"First off…Cato forced me in the alliance," I say slowly, watching him scowl at Cato, "And what do you mean by 'us', Peeta?"

"Don't you understand? We were all part of it. We were all working against you guys. Rue, Thresh, Finch, Thomas, me, and everyone else who wasn't in your special group."

I feel my mouth hanging slightly open. Everyone, against the Careers? I glance at Cato, who only stares at Peeta with an emotionless face. I wonder if he's keeping it all bottled up at the moment, so that he can explode later on.

Peeta continues. "It—It was us who stole your supplies. We killed Marvel. We watched your.." he groans as his chest heaves, "..your every move, waiting for a good time to attack."

He waits once again for Cato to say something. Cato remains quiet. Even Clove is silently listening, letting the information sink in. It's frightening to see how serious they both are. The only sound there is is the splattering of Cato's blood from his wound against the forest floor.

"We knew the perfect time was when you were all together, looking for me. Rue dropped the nest on you..." Peeta coughs, and weakly continues speaking. "The goal was to kill you, Cato, so we could get Katniss on our side. But I see it would have never worked anyway." he returns to his hurt yet cold tone.

Marvel's death, Foxface's trap, the Tracker Jackers, Rue and Thresh, and now this…. How could I have not seen the whole alliance, all this time? It makes so much more sense now, why every single time we found a tribute it had all gone wrong.

Peeta takes a few shaky breaths, and Clove raises her knife again."Well, none of it really mattered. You're dead now, Lover boy." she hisses. I watch in horror as she starts to trace designs on Peeta's lip using the tip of her knife. He squirms around, but it's hopeless. He's already dying anyways. He gasps in pain and Clove laughs with amusement. Slowly, drops of blood start to form on his upper lip. I can feel his life slowly ebbing away.

"No! Stop it!" I say.

But she can't hear me over her maniacal laughs.

"Clove, stop," Cato says in a strong, commanding voice; one that Clove hears and definitely won't ignore. She freezes, and turns to face him.

"What?" she snarls, "What is it, Cato?"

"Just kill him. There's no need to torture him," says Cato. His eyes flicker over to mine, and I look away. Why is Cato resisting the demands of Clove? Why wouldn't he want to torture Peeta?

Clove looks at Cato with contempt.

"He's almost dead. Just finish him off so we can go," Cato almost looks bored. He plays with the hilt of the sword he's holding, waiting for Clove to finish Peeta.

"No, I won't," says Clove stubbornly.

Cato sighs exasperatedly. He pushes Clove out of his way and walks up to Peeta's body. Clove makes an indignant noise and tries to shove him away again, but he's too strong. Quickly, his sword slashes down, and I close my eyes. I don't want to see it.

The cannon fires a few seconds later. I open my eyes to find Clove glaring at Cato. I turn to look away, but instead my eyes land on Peeta's body. His corpse.

I gasp, and squeeze my eyes shut once again. The sight of Peeta dead makes me head spin. How is it possible? The boy who once saved my life is dead. The same boy who I had to pretend to be in love with. And also, the boy who might have actually loved me back. He's gone forever. And his last words towards me were full of hatred.

Suddenly, I hate myself too. I hate myself for not even attempting to save his life. Just watching as my allies killed him. What kind of a monster am I? Why did I just _stand _there as if I were watching a television show? As if I were a viewer in the Capitol, mesmerized by the action around me?

But…what could I have done to save him?

It's too much. I find a lone tear rolling down my cheek, but quickly rub it away, pretending it wasn't there. Pull yourself together, Katniss. Stop crying.

Cato walks over to me, saying "You alright?" He actually sounds sympathetic.

_No, you just killed my district partner_!

I know I should be thankful he ended Peeta's life quickly, before Clove could torture him. But still. It was his sword that caused Peeta's heart to stop beating. I should hate him too.

I nod. "I'm fine," I snap, though my throat feels like it's been strangled. "Fine," I repeat, a little softer this time. I lower my head so he can't see my wet eyes. I don't want him to think I'm being weak. I know the Careers hate emotion so if he sees me crying, he'll treat me like scum.

Surprisingly, he doesn't seem angry. He only gives me a strange look. I decide to accept the silence and be grateful for it.

My eyes are prickling and I'm still fighting the tears. "Thanks for ending it quickly." I mumble, staring at the ground. If he wouldn't have stepped in, then I'm sure nightmares of Peeta screaming and writhing on the ground would have haunted me for the rest of my life.

"Well, I don't really like all the screaming anyway," he smirks at Clove, who is still pouting. "Come on, let's go. No doubt Rock guy is somewhere around here."

Suddenly, I remember Cato's wound."Oh my god, you're shoulder!" I say. I look at it and am horrified at how grotesque it is. I hate blood. I hate having to look at injuries, especially when accidents happen in the mines and my mother has a whole bunch of bloody, cut up patients. Usually I would just leave the house and take refuge in the forest.

I steel myself with some much needed courage and examine it closely. It's a pretty bad cut. His flesh is showing and a steady stream of blood is running down his arm.

He shrugs, which looks really painful. "I've had worse," he says.

I don't know how he's handling the pain so well, but his shoulder definitely needs to be fixed up. I unzip my backpack and thankfully, I had the foresight to bring a first aid kit. I take a long roll of bandages out.

He looks at me interestedly as I bandage his shoulder. I almost flinch when my hands come in contact with his blood.

"What, are you afraid of blood, Twelve?"

I shake my head determinedly. "It's just that this is kind of... Ick, it's gross." What an understatement. I finish wrapping the bandage and the bleeding stops. I wipe the blood off of his arm, running the towel over his bicep. It's quite disgusting, but somehow I manage to get it all cleaned up. I look at it, satisfied. Hm, not bad.

"Thanks, Twelve," says Cato looking at me with those icy blue eyes. He looks almost curious, as if there's something he can't figure out. I'm captivated for a moment. The question faintly appears in the back of my mind; will those eyes ever show any _real_ emotion?

I snap back to attention when I realize that my hand is practically clutching his arm."Ah, thats... Ew." I say breaking eye contact with him and quickly pulling my hand away. It's partially covered with blood. I hurriedly wipe it off with another towel as Cato laughs at me.

"Shut up," I mutter, feeling revolted by it all. I don't know how Clove manages to do what she does. It must be like a bloodfest whenever she tortures her victims.

I look back up and see Clove staring at me with dislike. "Come on you idiots. Let's go now that little Cato is all better."

Cato scowls at her and gives her a playful punch. Clove retaliates by elbowing him in the ribs. The two go on at it while we walk back to the Cornucopia. And by the time we do get back, they're laughing and in good spirits again. I don't see how they can go back to acting like normal so quickly after that kill. I know I won't be able to.

* * *

"Hey," Clove turns to me, "We need more food. Go hunt some more of those bird things."

Seriously, do these Careers not know how to ask nicely? Effie would be horrified at their lack of manners. Even I can't stand her demanding tone. She has no right to boss me around. And I'm in no mood to listen to it.

"Well if you stop treating me like I'm your slave, little miss Princess, then maybe I will." I snap at her, extremely annoyed.

"Ooh, burn," Cato says smirking as Clove's face reddens.

I only unzip my backpack and take out the leftover meat from yesterday that's wrapped in foil, tossing it to Clove. "Here, eat this. It's still good."

Clove frowns at the idea of not having fresh meat, but her hunger gets the best of her. She unwraps it and starts to devour it.

"Look," says Cato pointing up at the sky. A metal object is slowly flowing down, making a melodic tinkling noise as it descends.

"It's another parachute," I say a little surprised. I know it isn't for me, since I'm perfectly fine. It must be for Cato.

He snatches it out of the air and opens it. Sure enough, inside the container is a tube of ointment for his cut. It looks like the advanced, high tech kind. The kind that the Capitol brews which heals wounds like magic.

"Looks like Enobaria finally remembered her job," Cato says grinning as he uncaps the tube. A pungent smell fills the air.

Hm. We're pretty far into the Games, and I know for a fact that medicine is always the most expensive gift to send in. How did Enobaria afford that? "You must have a lot of sponsors." I note.

He and Clove quickly exchange a glance, which seems strange. "Yeah. District 2 always has a lot of sponsors," Cato says with a shrug of indifference. Like that explained everything. I'm still puzzled when he says, "Hey, could you unwrap this for me?"

I sigh at the thought of having to see the wound again, and walk over to Cato and help him.

When I unwrap it, the fresh sight of the blood sickens me. My stomach is churning as I remove the bandage, clean the wound again, and help him apply the cream. It's still awkward to be so close to him, touching his arm. It's hard to ignore how warm it is too.

He smirks at my discomfort, and I try to ignore him.

Finally I finish coating the whole area with the medicine. I change out the bandages and finally let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I wonder how long it'll take to heal. Judging by the fact that these Capitol medicines are so advanced, he'll probably feel better by tomorrow morning.

* * *

**Cato **

My sponsors must really like the plan Clove and I made up.

Well, District 2 sponsors are usually the more violent-loving fans who love to see a good drama, especially if it includes some serious plotting and backstabbing. It's their favorite type of Games. So naturally, when they see me hurt, they'll want to help me out first thing. I mouth a reluctant _thanks_ to Enobaria, even though I still hate her. She's probably bathing in all the money my sponsors sent in.

"Kay, done," Katniss mutters as she places the cap back on the tube. She wraps a new bandage around my shoulder, gently making sure it doesn't tug too hard around the cut.

It's interesting to see how much she's changed around me. On the first day here in the arena, her goal was to escape me. To run away. She even believed that I was going to kill her. But now, she completely trusts me and won't even think about leaving. Not that she likes me, no, she just accepts me now. And the feeling is mutual. I guess that's as far as we'll ever get.

But still. I mean, damn, I'm a good actor.

.

**AN: **Aww, don't get too angry at Cato. He's still confused about how he really feels after all. I really can't wait to write the after-Games drama, though. That'll be interesting. It's only a few chapters away…haha so anyways, thank you all for the wonderful reviews, comments and tips! They make me smile :) Keep them coming lovelies. Next chapter is part 1 of the final showdown.


	11. Raindrops and Nightmares

"So what now?" Clove yawns. She tosses the ball of foil into the almost empty Cornucopia, and lazily stretches out into the plush green grass. I don't know how she's so tired already. It's still afternoon.

"Now we all should rest," says Katniss sighing.

"No, we need to go after Eleven," I say.

Katniss only glares at me, "No, we need to rest," she repeats. "You need time to heal, Cato. You can't go chasing after someone in this condition. That's ridiculous."

"This is nothing. I want this to be over with. If we go after him now—"

"Then the Games will be over with, and it hasn't even been a week." says Katniss irritably. "It'll all be over. We're in no shape to fight him. We'll all be dead within seconds, and he'll be the victor."

I'm about to argue when suddenly, out of nowhere, the atmosphere darkens. We all look up at what used to be the sunny blue sky. Dark clouds have gathered, and the sky looks eerily green. We see a huge flash of lightning, and then the inevitable clap of thunder follows. It's so loud that Katniss flinches a little. And then comes the rain. It comes down in sheets, and we're all soaked within seconds.

"Come on!" shouts Clove, "Let's get in the Cornucopia!"

We all run inside to take shelter from the storm. I notice that this is no ordinary storm. No, an ordinary storm doesn't come out of nowhere. This is a storm produced by the Gamemakers, just like the fire that drove Katniss and I from the spot in the woods.

And it must also mean that there's something they want. Things like this happen for specific reasons. Are they trying to stop me from going after Thresh? Maybe they thought my decision was too brash, or maybe they wanted to extend the Games longer. Either way, we're stuck here. We aren't going anywhere.

"Great!" Clove says sarcastically, "Now we can't go anywhere! Thanks a lot!" she peers outside the Cornucopia, making a face at the cameras.

"Looks like I'm going to have to agree with you," I grumble reluctantly to Katniss, who looks surprised at all the rain coming down. Her attentive gaze shifts back to me, and she shrugs.

"And it looks like the Gamemakers agree with me too," she says. She walks farther back inside the Cornucopia and curls into a ball on the floor shivering. I follow her inside and rake my gaze over her trembling form. Her hair is a sopping mss, raindrops roll freely down her cheeks and her shirt clings to her limbs, having been pelted by the chilling rain.

"Cold?"

She bites her lip and nods. "Yeah, my shirt got soaked." Well obviously.

She looks so pathetic, cold and wet and alone. I don't want to care. I just want to ignore her and move on, but she's making it so hard.

I sigh and take my jacket off. "Here, take it."

"Are you sure? You don't want—"

"No, I'm fine," she protests, but I shoot her a look. _Just shut up and take it._

She looks at me dubiously, and then tugs the oversized jacket over her tiny, shivering body."Thanks," she mutters staring at the wall. I nod and sit down next to her. I wonder why she's suddenly so emotional. Maybe it has to do with Peeta. Whatever it is, I don't want to ask her about it. She obviously doesn't feel like talking.

But maybe she _is_ still disturbed about Peeta. Everyone saw the anger in his eyes and the hurt in his voice. After all, his last words were towards Katniss and full of resentment. She probably thought that he hated her. And if it hadn't been for all my experienced years of lying, I would have thought so too. But I mean, please. Lover Boy hating Fire Girl? Impossible. Even through the angry remarks he was making, I could see the pain. The pain in having to pretend to feel something you don't feel. It's all too normal for me.

It still confuses me though. Why didn't she just waltz on over to join the boy she loved? That's what love is, isn't it? Being with the person who you can't stop thinking about? So if she didn't side with him….

"You didn't love him, did you?" I say quietly.

Katniss turns her head and looks at me with her eyes deep in thought, but she automatically says "I did." Her voice oddly echoes, bouncing within the walls of the Cornucopia. She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but shuts it again.

"I'm sure she did." Clove's sarcastic voice comes from somewhere near the mouth of the Cornucopia. She's pacing back and forth, occasionally sticking her hand out into the rain or scowling up at the sky.

"No, you didn't." I say again, trying to ignore Clove.

"Why are you being so persistent?" says Katniss frustrated.

I don't know. I have a sudden urge to prove the spectators, the mentors, Katniss herself, wrong. I didn't want to hear her say that she loved him. It just didn't seem right. Someone like her…would never fall for someone like Lover boy. She deserves someone better. Someone more like her—an equal.

"I just want to know the truth," I say, finding a sudden determination. "Did you love him—yes or no?"

She entwines her fingers together and stares down at the ground, shifting uncomfortably. "Love has a lot of different meanings," she whispers, still focused on the ground. "Maybe…maybe it wasn't what I thought it was."

Her uncertainty only makes my strong curiosity grow. If that wasn't love, then what was it? And what is hell is _love_ in the first place? Questions appear but answers refuse to accompany them. I wish I could just ask her, but she doesn't even seem to know the answers herself.

* * *

We continue to sit in silence for what seems like an eternity, listening to the rain hammer against the roof of the Cornucopia. Fat drops splatter into the grassy field, creating sloppy puddles of mud here and there. It's no good weather to fight in. This is a fucking mudbath. Hopefully the Gamemakers will send in a day of extreme dry heat to maybe evaporate some of the water. But I know it won't happen.

The rumbling thunder combined with the continuous sound of pouring rain is almost soothing, and soon, Katniss has fallen asleep. Her head lolls to the side, finding my shoulder and resting there. I want to push her away but I don't want to wake her, either. She's oddly warm, even though I've been this close to her plenty of times before. This time just feels different.

"Looks like Twelve's fallen asleep," Clove comments.

"So?" I say.

"So we can talk about her now." Her eyes glint with excitement.

"Haven't we talked about the plan enough lately?" I hope she doesn't here the tone of exhaustion in my voice.

"No!" Clove replies, her voice reaching to the point of complaint.

I sigh, knowing she'll never let me out of this. "Okay. Fine. What do you want?"

Her eyes light up and she grins, and I know another one of her crazy ideas is forming in her head. "One," she says, "is that I get to torture her until she's screaming for you to help her. Until she's screaming _your_ name for help."

"…Go on." I say hesitantly.

"And two," Clove's grin widens, "I want you to not do anything, and just watch as her little face gets ruined. And I want her to see you watching."

"No," I immediately say. This is just…it's sick! This won't happen. What the fuck is she thinking?

"What?! You asked what I wanted, and that's it!" she exclaims. "Only two things, Cato! Please!" her voice has gone insanely different from her usual high pitched whine.

"No," I say again firmly. It's too much. It's too disgusting and way too disturbing, even for me. If it were any other tribute, I might give into her demands. Just.. not Katniss.

"You owe me," Clove growls, "Remember? And this is all I ask."

I do remember. I remember standing outside the gates of Stonesworth when I was little, filled with longing. And of course, the teachers who would push me away, telling me to go back to my drunken parents. It all had changed because of Clove. Without her, I wouldn't have made it into the Academy. I wouldn't have the honor of being in the Games this very moment.

And because of that, I'm forever in her debt. Making it to the Games is the highest goal of any kid in Two. Of course, making it out would make you legend. But still, she got me here and she'll always be the one person to understand me; to know me like the back of her hand. So she's right, I do owe her. Just not to the extent of allowing her to torture a fr—an ally.

"Clove…I'm not letting you do this." I say.

"Why?" she fumes, her eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I thought you hated Fire Girl! Don't you want to see it happen? Aren't you _excited _to see the shock on her face when—"

"That's enough," I say sharply, interrupting her comment. "We're sticking to the plan. I distract her, I'll talk to her or something, and you stab her in the back. She dies, and one of us will win in the end. Deal?"

Clove glares at me intensely before muttering "Deal." Good. She knows that I make the final decisions here. Sometimes I do feel like I have to reassert my authority whenever I'm with her. She can be such a lousy, complaining pain in the ass.

She stalks off and snatches up her backpack, still angry at me. She unzips it and pulls out a bag of something. Berries? Anyway, it's food. Eating whenever she's upset has always been another one of her little habits, ever since she was little. Probably because her father would always give her treats every time she was sad. And she's carried the bad habit with her all the way till now.

She plucks a berry from the bag and squints at it in the darkness. It's black and plump with juice, and seems vaguely familiar.

"Where did you get those?" I demand.

She ignores me, giving me her usual silent treatment. She can hold some serious grudges.

The name is on the tip of my tongue, and I remember it right as she places it in her mouth.

"Clove! Spit that out!" I immediately say. Her eyes widen and she spits out the berry, spluttering and coughing up the remaining juice in her mouth.

"Did you swallow any of it?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No, why?" She takes a bottle of water and rinses her mouth, spitting out the water with unneeded force.

"That's nightlock," I explain, remembering it from my many adventures in the forest. I had seen an animal eat it once. Right after it swallowed the berry, it fell down, dead. "They're poisonous berries. If you swallowed that, you'd be dead by now."

"Oh." Clove frowns at the bag of berries, and stuffs it back into her backpack.

I clear my throat, "Well? I believe I just saved your life. You're welcome, by the way," I grin at her smugly.

"Thank you for saving my life, Cato," Clove mumbles as if she's rehearsed the line for ages. She probably has.

"You should probably throw them away." I advise, "Wouldn't be much fun if you ate it again by accident."

"No, it wouldn't. But it would be if someone else did," Clove says grinning. "Who knows? Maybe Eleven of Five likes berries."

"Eleven was born surrounded by fruit, brainless," I say, "He knows them better than we do. I have a feeling Five knows what these are too. Anyway, where did you find them?" Surely she couldn't have picked them. After all, she's been with me the whole time for the past few days.

"Uh, in Lover Boy's bag. I stole them while you were getting bandaged by nurse Katniss," says Clove.

I roll my eyes at her. "What?" she protests indignantly, "I was starving!"

"You know, that means Lover Boy could have died then, all by himself." I sigh. If only we had waited maybe just a day. Then he would be dead from his own stupidity. But then again, that would be no fun.

"Yeah, sure." Clove says leaning against the wall. Within the next minute, her eyes slowly droop, and she says "I'm gonna sleep, kay? Wake me up later."

"Mhm," I say.

"You know what?" she murmurs, "You should sleep too. You need it."

"Yeah, sure," I say monotonously, waving away the offer. Why is everyone telling me to sleep? I don't need it. In fact, we sleep too much. It's crazy how easily tired Clove and Katniss get. Then again, we can't exactly do anything else in this weather.

Clove dozes off, her fingers grasping her knife as usual. I guess it's up to me now to keep watch. Not that anything will happen anyway. The Gamemakers seem determined on raining us out all day and keeping us trapped in the Cornucopia. Who knows what's going on in their heads?

* * *

**Katniss**

Images of a little girl huddling under a tree fill my dreams. She's soaking wet from the rain, and she's desperately clinging on to some scraps of clothing. It isn't until I see that she's next to a bakery that I realize the girl is me.

A boy walks out of the bakery, his eyes squinting through the thick rain. He sees me and for a brief moment we make eye contact, but I quickly look away. Embarrassment makes my cheeks burn. I don't want him to recognize me. Then, every time he'll see me at school, he'll remember me as the pathetic starving little girl who was so desperate for food that she hung outside of a bakery.

But surprisingly, he tosses a loaf of bread to me. Slightly charred and burnt, but its food. I scramble up to it and grab it with both hands, relishing in its warmth. A sudden happiness and feeling of wholeness fills my body, as I realize what this burnt bread means. It means a meal for tonight. It means survival.

I want to thank the boy, but he quickly rushes back inside the bakery. Maybe he didn't want to be caught up in the rain. I don't know. But I know that I'm forever in his debt. He's helped me survive.

Then my dream takes a drastic turn, as suddenly, the bakery erupts into flames. I can only watch in horror as the small, dingy building gets consumed in the fire. Smoke wafts over to me. I suddenly find it hard to breathe. Screams come from inside, and I know that they're gone for sure. They're dead, all of them. I drop the bread in shock.

But the worst part is when I look down at my trembling hands, palms open upwards. They're covered in black soot. And it can only mean one thing—I'm guilty.

* * *

I sit up, gasping for air and clutching something warm. The smell of smoke and the taste of ashes on my tongue are still fresh in my mind when I realize that I'm in the Cornucopia. It was all a dream.

I hate dreams. They all somehow twist and turn until they end up as nightmares.

I look down to see what I'm holding and…it's Cato's wrist. I immediately drop it and look away in embarrassment. Then I sit up straight so that I'm no longer leaning on him, and take a few deep breaths, allowing the chilly air to envelop me now that I'm not latched onto his warmth.

"Bad dream?" his voice carries over to me, and I nod.

"Worse than the usual," I mutter, waiting for him to tease me for falling asleep on him. Literally.

He doesn't. Instead, he plays around with the hilt of a sword and stares outside the Cornucopia, either bored or deep in thought.

"What've you been doing the whole time?" I ask him.

He turns around to look at me, smirking, "Keeping watch while you lazy bums sleep."

"Sleep is healthy, Cato. Or did they not teach you that at the precious little academy?" I roll my eyes at him.

He doesn't say anything, and instead stares down at the ground. He's acting very strangely. He would usually have some comeback or snide remark to throw at me.

I slide back over to sit down next to him. He flinches as I reenter his sphere of personal space. "I don't know if it's just me..but you're quiet today. Does it have to do with—"

"No, I'm fine," he says in a flat tone. His expression is blank.

"Obviously, you aren't," I say.

"Drop it, Twelve," he says in a quiet tone, as if to warn me.

He's completely unreadable, and it frustrates me to no end. "Just tell me, damn it! You're always keeping to yourself, and—"

"Well maybe I don't _want _to talk to you!" he says angrily, "Ever think about that, Twelve? We aren't exactly best buddies here, so stop asking me to talk about my feelings or whatever the fuck you're trying to get me to explain!"

"I never said we were fr..friends! I just asked you how you were! Is it too insulting to have a girl from Twelve be polite to you?" I fire back, feeling my blood rise. Has he completely lost his mind? Why would he ever jump to the conclusion that I'm trying to get him to be my _friend_? I would never ask that of someone like him!

"Fine," he growls, "Then leave me alone, and I'll leave you alone. Are we clear?"

"Yes, crystal," I reply scornfully. "Although what I don't get is why you ever talked about—"

"I said _drop it,_" he repeats, fixing me with a steady glare. "I could care less about what you have to say, but you need to shut up before my head explodes just from hearing your fucking voice."

I cross my arms defensively, "You're impossible."

"So I've heard," he mutters, and continues to stare out through the thick rain, towards the woods.

We sit in silence for the next few minutes with only the unbroken tension between us. The whole time, I try to avoid staring at him, so I end up looking outside too. It's gotten so dark that the atmosphere looks like an eerie cavernous room—black with tinges of dark green here and there.

I can't help but let the occasional question run through my mind, though. What is going through that head of his? What can be so important that he finds it necessary to keep it to himself, and build those hundred foot high walls around him? Why does he have to isolate himself?

I'm beginning to doubt those things I heard him tell Clove that night I was eavesdropping on them. He can't care about me or like me at all if he's so adamant about hiding himself.

"Hey, look," he says suddenly. I realize that his voice has returned to normal and that whatever we just had must be over. I follow his gaze; he's focused on something out in the distance near the line of trees.

"What?" I squint outside, but I can't see much with the sheets of rain pouring down.

"See?" Cato points out towards the side of the field. I can just barely make out a figure running towards the forest. It's hard to tell at first, but then I remember there's only one person left, other than us three.

"Eleven," Cato and I immediately say.

"Get up." Cato orders, swiftly standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. I do the same, and go over to wake Clove up.

"No..don't," Cato says clinically.

I look at him blankly. "Why? Shouldn't she come along with us? We'll need all the help we can get."

He seems to ponder this for a moment, and then relents. "Fine. But don't tell her I was reconsidering it."

I shake Clove roughly, feeling quite satisfied by her alarmed expression.

"What?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

"Get up," I say, "We saw Eleven."

She gasps and quickly collects a bunch of knives, struggling to hold them all as she stands up.

"I'm ready," she mutters groggily. I take an extra sheath of arrows, and Cato grabs his sword along with a few other weapons.

Finally, his face cracks into a grin as he looks at both of us, determination set in his eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

The ground is slick with mud. I try my best not to slip, but at the rate Cato and Clove are running, I'm bound to fall at any second.

"Hurry up!" Cato urges with a hint of annoyance in his tone, beckoning me to run faster. But I can't. I'm not trained for this like they have been. Plus, with all the rain, I can hardly tell where we're at.

I only gasp for air and try my best to keep my legs moving. Water runs down my whole body, and I'm drenched all the way through. I blink multiple times to keep rain out of my eyes, but it's no use. It's everywhere. I'm literally inhaling the raindrops, and I cough out some water before sucking in another gulp of air. Thank goodness I at least have a waterproof jacket. Then I remember that it's Cato's. I wonder if he'll want it back.

Finally we reach the part where the forest line begins, and Cato curses.

"We've lost him!" he says over the sound of the rain.

But Clove is saying something, pointing to the ground. Footsteps are visible from all the mud that the rain has created.

"Follow them!" she shouts, and takes the lead. I feel like we're playing a game of hide-and-seek tag. We keep our heads bent down as we track the prints and try to keep the rain out of our eyes.

Thankfully, the rain is a bit milder here. The tree leaves and branches do a good job of blocking a lot of it, but it's still extremely muddy.

After a minute or so, we see him. He's obviously running away from us, but that isn't what catches my attention. He's completely covered in…armor? It isn't the typical metal armor that I would expect. Instead, it's sort of a mesh covering that protects him head to toe. He's also wearing some sort of goggles, a large backpack, and is holding two wicked knives in each hand.

Compared to him, I must seem like an insignificant, shivering ant with toothpicks as arrows. I gulp nervously as he turns around to face us. He towers over me and Clove, and is even an inch taller than Cato. His eyes are murderous.

"You," He says threateningly, in a low voice. He stares at Cato with hatred, "You killed Rue?"

I'm literally trembling with fear, and I'm thankful Cato and Clove aren't noticing at the moment.

"Yes," Cato says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. He and Thresh seem to be having some sort of stare off. I know what this is. They're challenging each other. I find myself, once again, slowly backing away. I grab an arrow and notch it in place, just in case something goes wrong.

I wonder how Cato is so flawlessly calm at the moment. Like nothing is going on, like it's all just a game. It isn't _just _a game, though; it's the Game. And it seems Cato has mastered every bit of acting, manipulating, and killing that he needs to win it.

Thresh yells in anger, and charges with his sword.

It takes me a second for me to blink in bewilderment and realize he isn't going for Cato. He's going for Clove.

Clove shrieks in surprise and whips out a knife, throwing it at Thresh at the last second. It bounces harmlessly off his armor and he surprisingly drops his sword. He grabs Clove's neck, lifting her up by her throat.

"Stop!" Cato and I both cry out at the same time. I draw back my arrow and shooting at his neck. My aim is off and instead I hit lower than I had intended to, but it distracts Thresh all the same. He drops Clove and pulls the arrow out from the spot right above his chest and glares at me.

"You," he growls, "I thought you were better. I thought you wouldn't play—but you did. You are no better than the rest of them."

My breaths are shallow as I stare at him in shock. He picks up his sword again, stepping over Clove's body and making me his target this time.

Something about his words has me rooted to the ground, unable to blink, unable to move. _I thought you were better. _Better than the Careers? What does he mean?

"Katniss, watch out!" Cato shouts, and his voice pulls me out of the trance just in time. I dodge out of the way and Thresh's sword slices at the air, at the falling rain. I've rolled onto the muddy ground and the back of my head slams down onto a tree root, making a blinding pain flash through my eyes.

I drag myself to take cover behind a large tree and hear Thresh swearing, yelling a promise to find me. It doesn't last long and he and Cato begin to fight instead. I slowly crawl out from behind the tree to watch.

Cato instantly swipes his own sword at him, but it doesn't hurt Thresh a bit. Instead, Cato's arm get's cut badly. He curses loudly before swinging his sword once again at Thresh, who parries the blow. Thresh doesn't seem too good at using the sword, but he isn't useless at it either. Cato definitely could beat him…if Thresh weren't wearing the armor.

It continues. Swing, block, hit, miss. I realize that Clove is still slouched on the ground. She's conscious. Her neck has reddened and her eyes are full of renewed anger. She intently watches the duel, waiting to strike and waiting to join in on the fight. But she isn't getting her window of opportunity. Not yet.

Then Cato delivers a powerful blow to Thresh's temple. Thresh grunts in pain and clutches it for a moment, and Clove seizes her opportunity. In a flash, she's reached Thresh with all four knives extended. She stabs a knife down into his neck, grinning with delight.

"We've got you now, Eleven!" she says laughing maniacally yet sorely, while Thresh yells and curses at her. He hands fumble around and grasp at the ground, but he finds nothing but slippery mud. There are no rocks here. Not this time.

I turn to Cato, who's wiping the blood off his arm. For a moment he only stares at me. But then he does the most surprising thing I've ever seen him do.

He walks over to me, drops his sword, and wraps me in his arms.

I almost choke in shock, and also because he's squeezing me so tightly. But out of all emotions and feelings running through my lightheadedness, its happiness that overwhelms me.

His bare arms are warm and his body heat seeps through my cold, mud-caked clothes. Raindrops mingle with his blood and it drips freely down his arm. His shallow and rapid breathing tickles the back of my ears as he pulls me even closer, fully pressing me against him, and then murmuring something incomprehensible. Whatever he's saying, it makes me feel like I'm beginning to melt. I don't feel frigid and stunned anymore. His strong heartbeat drowns out all thoughts, making the content feeling come back.

But that's the problem. I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling the warmth spread throughout my body, giving every single nerve a tingling sensation. I don't know why the hairs on the back of my neck stand up whenever he touches me. I don't know why my stomach tumbles uncomfortably when his eyes meet mine. After all, I should hate him. What has he done to make me want to like him, anyway?

I sharply inhale as his arms loosen around me bit. "Are you…are you alright?" I manage to say.

"Yeah, fine," he says. He sounds tired. Exhausted. I glance at his arm and the cut. It isn't too deep after all, not as bad as the one he had gotten on his other arm the day before.

We hear the faint _boom_ of the cannon. Thresh is dead. Clove is laughing with joy. And Cato is still hugging me. I can't see Clove at the moment, but she must be smirking at this…situation.

This makes me wonder—why did Cato come over and suddenly embrace me? Earlier he was as emotionless as a wall. And now he's suddenly showing affection, and weariness. There's something else though. I just don't understand what it is.

* * *

**Cato**

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whisper, just quickly and quietly enough so that she can't hear me. I press her head against my chest and start to feel a sinking feeling in my stomach. I'm sorry for what will have to happen.

She's cold. Her tiny body against mine suddenly feels like it belongs. Her wet cheek is pressed against my heart, and I have her facing away from Clove.

I decide that maybe I'm gripping her too tightly, and loosen my hold on her, but make sure that she doesn't have the freedom to turn around. I need her to remain in this position if I want the plan to work.

"Are you…are you alright?" her small voice asks, and for a moment, something stirs inside of me. The fact that she's actually concerned about me is so blunt, so…

"Yeah, fine," I reply. Only then do I realize how drained of energy I am. Maybe a nap would have done me good after all.

After the cannon fires, I know what happens next. Step three. The last part of the plan that will get the entire nation riled up, praising me for my cleverness and laughing at how Fire Girl was tricked. No, not Fire Girl. Katniss. She doesn't seem like the Girl on Fire anymore. Her ferocity and bravado seems to be gone. Or maybe that's only what it seems like to me, because I know her death is approaching.

No, this can't be happening already. It's only been a week. This must have been the shortest Games in history. It's also probably the most complicated one.

"What about you?" I ask, and she nods.

"I'm okay."

I keep my arms around her as I watch Clove approach us. She casually wipes the blood off of her knives, and winks at me. I feel disgusted. But I have to do this. It has to be carried out so that I can win.

Clove slowly walks over to us, stealthy as a fox. Out of her four knives, she picks the one she thinks will do the most damage. A knife with a long blade and a few delicate designs etched onto it. _Here comes the killer._

She's ten feet away. Five. She's right behind Katniss. Every single person breathing and living in Panem must be on the edge of their seats. But of course, they all know what will happen. It's _how_ it will happen that will interest them the most.

"Cato?" Katniss mumbles uncertainly, and I softly pat her shoulder.

"It's alright," I say quietly, though the regret couldn't be any clearer in my voice.

Fuck, I'm going to miss her, and fuck, I'm getting too emotional for my own good.

I take a deep breath, and surprise hits me when I realize that I've inhaled Katniss' scent. Fruity and earthy. Strawberries and freshly cut grass. And rain.

Something jolts in my stomach, and I groan. Why is she making this so difficult on me?

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as Clove raises her blade, eyes devious as always, hand poised to kill. My breathing somehow becomes faster, as if I'm the one about to be murdered, as if I'm about to watch my own death. Pictures of Katniss fill my mind as I keep a straight face on, daring myself not to move.

And then, Clove's hand descends.


	12. A Clovely Surprise

I slam Katniss down to the ground covering her body with mine, and Clove's knife finds my back instead.

Only a split second later, her screams of anger fill the air and the pain arrives. A sharp, searing sensation in the middle of my back. _Fuck. _Katniss' eyes are wide with fear and confusion. I roll off of her, lying on my side instead, groaning at the familiar yet excruciating sensation in my lower back. My cut meets a mix of pine needles, rainwater, and cool mud.

Katniss forms the word "What?" in surprise, as she puts together what just happened. I watch as the realization dawns on her. She flies to her feet and quickly grabs and arrow, quickly loading it into her bow and aiming it at Clove. But Clove is too fast and before Katniss can shoot, she's tackled her to the ground.

I can only watch as the two struggle and wrestle each other. I suddenly feel so weak, so useless. The blood is slowly leeching out of my back, and I know that my life giving away. What happened to winning this? Why the hell did I push Katniss down, when Clove could have just stabbed her? Then I could've just killed Clove afterwards, and who would be the winner? Me. Just like I had planned.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand there and watch Katniss get stabbed in the back. So maybe she's grown on me after all. Maybe it's become true that I don't want her to die. And maybe...possibly... All that's been a lie is slowly becoming reality. Have I just been forcing myself to claim that everything I've made up was just a lie? "Acting"? Because suddenly, none of it seems fake anymore.

This is so fucking wrong! Why couldn't things have just gone as planned?

Clove screams with fury as Katniss manages to push her down onto the ground. She has her knife pointed at Katniss' throat, and Katniss has hers likewise. It's a stalemate.

For a moment, the two breathe heavily and stare at each other. They're muddy and soaked with rain, hair plastered all over their faces and eyes wild. And then Katniss' knife moves unpredictably to Clove's hand, piercing it.

Clove screams and pulls her hand holding the knife down, and right in that moment, Katniss slams her knife straight down into Clove's neck. It sinks in deep, and I automatically know that it'll be the end of Clove.

I have lost all feeling in this battle. Everything has somehow disappeared, so I don't know if I am relieved or horrified at the sight I see before me. Clove is weakly grasping at her neck, her hand becoming soaked from the blood gushing out of it. She is staring at me, eyes filled with a mixture of pleading and betrayal.

When really, it should be Katniss looking at me with betrayal. She just doesn't know it yet. The only thing she knows at the moment is that I saved her life. She's shakily putting her bloody weapon down, staring at Clove cautiously. But Clove isn't going to get back up. Not this time.

Somehow, I make my way over to Clove. Every step I take is another delivered throbbing pain in my back. Here we are, the pathetic tributes of District Two. Once-strong, evil and plotting, but now dying. One because of emotion, and the other because of anger. "Cato.." Clove whispers, "You- you were supp-posed to stick to the plan."She gurgles on her own blood, and her face contorts into pain.

I only shake my head, and look at her, feeling a mixture of sadness and disgust. "Look what all the fun and games have done to us, Clove."

Her eyes moisten as a tear leaks, and she says chokingly "I was supposed to win... For Rolland... For dad." And with that, she coughs up more blood and her eyes suddenly go glassy.

"I know," I say, taking her bloody hand in mine. I try my best to smile, even though it's a weak attempt and I know she'll never see it. "And… I'm sorry." I'm sorry for Clove's family, who had to watch another child die. I'm sorry for Clove, who was so close to victory. I'm sorry for Rolland, wherever he is, that he didn't get to see his sister win for him.

The cannon fires. I slide my hand over Clove's eyes, shutting them gently. Maybe she'll appear as though she's sleeping now. I suddenly feel it all hit me like a brick, all the memories of Clove and I in the past, how she got me into the academy, how she learned to torture people after someone had made fun of her dead brother, the innumerable times we trained together, practiced and fought together. We were so close.

And now, she's dead before me.

I will myself not to show how I feel. I can't look like a sad, miserable little kid over a death. I should be proud. One down, one to go. I can't let the death of my best friend move me. Just another dead tribute. Another dead tribute.

Another dead tribute.

I repeat the chant in my head, like I have been doing over the past week.

"I had to kill her," Katniss whispers, staring at me. "I had to, I couldn't just let her murder me, you know."

Her forehead is bleeding, and her arm is at an odd angle. I wonder what other injuries she has.

"I know," I say, trying not to let my voice break. "It had to be done."

_Just like this has to be done._ _Just like how you have to kill her now._

Do I really want to kill her? When I admit it to myself, no I don't. One week in the arena with a girl on fire can really change you. It can make you second guess your motives, and change your mind about killing her. But what other choice do I have?

I've made the situation worse. I should have let Clove kill her after all. Then I wouldn't have to do it myself.

Fuck, now I'm getting emotional. I can never kill her if I let my emotions get to me beforehand.

"There can only be one victor in this Game," I say slowly, hoping she understands. A new chant has taken over my mind.

_Do it for the victory. Do it for the pride. Do it for your District._

I step towards her. Her eyes are still wide with fear and anticipation, and she takes a step back. She looks around for a possible escape route, but she's not escaping. She won't. Because the Gamemakers wouldn't allow it, especially since we're so close to the finish. They want their finale.

* * *

**Katniss**

"Please, Cato, don't," I say, finding that my voice is trembling. The backs of my eyes are burning and I'm willing not to let a single tear fall. The confusion and heartache and want had hit me all in the chest, before I was forced to stare into Clove's eyes as I killed her. But through it all, I keep on the mask that Cato has taught me how to wear.

And once again, I'm about to be killed by him. But it all seems so different now. He saved me from Clove's attack, so why would he have to kill me?

Because he's right, there can only be one victor in this Game. There's always been one victor.

But... Could that be changed? Could there be two? Crazy possibilities that I know will never happen begin the pop up in my mind.

I desperately look around for something, anything. And then I see it—a bag of nightlock that has fallen out of Clove's backpack.

It can kill immediately after it is swallowed. It would be easy enough..but the only problem is, would he agree to it? Well, trying is always better than dying.

"Cato, the nightlock," I say urgently, pointing to it.

"What about it?" he narrows his eyes at me, probably thinking that I'm trying to trick him. Doesn't he understand? This…this can change it all!

"Bring it over. Please." I say, and he hesitates before picking it up and tossing it to me. I open it up and pick out two berries, rolling them between my fingers. They'll do. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously at me, but doesn't say a word.

I walk over to him, and say quietly "So what if they don't have a victor?"

He looks at me surprise, "What are you saying, Twelve? That you aren't going to try to kill me?"

I know he's weak. He's losing tons of blood by the minute, and I guess I could kill him. But I can't. I just... I can't kill him after all that's happened. After he held me just a few minutes ago, after he saved my life.

"I—I could ask the same of you." I manage to say.

He delivers a half smirk. "How do you know I won't kill you, right now, with this knife?"

My eyes travel down to his hands, where he's holding one of Clove's knives. I hadn't noticed it before.  
"Because...you wouldn't." I whisper, but I'm still afraid of the answer. I brace myself for the impact, just in case.

"No," he agrees, "I wouldn't." and he drops the knife, although his eyes are still trained intently on mine. I breathe out a small sigh of relief. He understands.

Another one of Thresh's lines run through my head. _I thought you wouldn't play._

"I won't do it," I say firmly. Cato looks at me, confusion clouding his eyes.

I look back at dead Clove, then at the sky where the vulture swarms over Clove's body, about to erase the last physical remnants of death from this arena. "I won't play, Thresh," I say loudly and clearly, "I promise you all…Thresh, Peeta, Finch, Clove, Cammie, Ryan, Glimmer, Marvel, Rue…" my voice begins to break. Thunder booms louder in the sky, as if warning me not to go on. I will myself not to say any more, except…

"I won't play."

I look back at Cato, maybe for the one last time, and give him a berry. He nods in understanding. "On three?" I say. Everything is becoming so surreal. I might die in the next few seconds, if it doesn't work. But it's no time to be negative.

"Hold it out for them to see," he instructs.

I do so, and say "One." I take a deep breath.

"Two." Cato says quietly. I stare into his cool blue eyes, always so calm, always so emotionless. His face is pale from the loss of blood, and he's struggling to breathe. At least this will end it all quickly.

"Three." We place the berries in our mouths, and the fear of death suddenly hits me. How could I be so stupid? Why in the world did I ever believe that this would work?

Then, we hear the surprising voice of Claudius Templesmith booming over the speakers of the arena.

"Wait! Stop! Ladies and gentlemen, I declare the two victors of our seventy-fourth annual Hunger Games— Cato Carleton and Katniss Everdeen!" he rushes the words out.

_The two victors._

Cato and I instantly spit out the berries, and I make sure to rinse my mouth out with a bottle of water and the falling raindrops just in case the juice remained.

"You did it," Cato breathes, staring at me. "We're... You... We're both—" He falters, as he struggles to speak. A look of pain flashes across his face. That's when I know how close he is. We have to get out of here, now.

""Victors." I finish for him, and I take his hand, gripping it tightly. "We won, Cato."

My hand shakes even though it is what's trying to keep him steady.

The whirring of a hovercraft catches my attention, and I look up to see two ladders swaying back and forth above us. It slowly lowers until it reaches us, and I grasp the lower rung of one of the ladders. The electric current instantly freezes me in place. Cato does the same with the other ladder. We are raised up until we reach the hovercraft. I watch as medics attend to Cato, who's looking even paler. His whole back is a bloodied mess, and his breathing is becoming slower and slower. I must still have some of the instincts from the Games, because all I see is a group of killers trying to attack Cato.

"Let him go!" I snarl at them and lunge towards them. Doctors and Peacekeepers restrain me, and I find myself being led into a room of white. White walls, white sheets on a pristine, white bed. I'm too dirty for this place, I don't belong here. I fight against the doctors, but in the end they push me down and I'm too exhausted to protest anymore. They stick a needle into my arm, and push down some sort of liquid in me. It flows through my body, and soon, I'm completely out.

* * *

_(The next day)_

A voice in the distance stirs the murky depths of my world. I slowly regain control over the use of my heavy eyelids, and lift them. My vision is slightly fractured at first. Light bounces off of every polished, spotless wall.

"Sweetheart? Can you hear me?"

I blink a few times and find myself looking at a familiar face.

"Hay-Haymitch," I mutter, feeling a dull aching pain in my arm.

"Hello," he says smiling wearily. "It's good to see you again."

I nod slightly, and try sitting up on the hospital bed. I still feel a bit weak, but I can tell that the doctors have done some major work on me. My arm is mostly better now. I still remember Clove's surprising force as she snapped my arm, and how limp it had felt. Thank goodness the doctors were able to fix it— that was my shooting arm.

There's a mirror on the opposite wall in front of me. When I look in it I also see that my prep team must have been in the room, because somehow, I'm back to beauty base zero. Guess they didn't want a filthy muddy girl with crazily tangled hair and chipped nails lying in the hospital bed. I must have been quite a sight.

Haymitch offers me a cracker, which I decline. I'm in no mood to eat. I do want to know why he's here, though, other than to congratulate me.

He sighs. "Sweetheart, there's… there's something that you need to know."

My mind wanders to Cato, and I wonder if he's alright. Of course he is. The doctors here can practically do anything. He should be like me at the moment, patched up and looking normal again. Except.. I don't feel normal. It's too weird being back in the real world. The word "friend" is hard for me to grasp. Only "tribute", "ally", and "enemy" mainly exist in my vocabulary at the moment. I can't help but feel every person is my enemy, and that every object I see can be used to help defend myself. From the hospital tubes attached to me to the stethoscope lying on the table. It's all wrong— nothing is normal.

"Katniss, are you listening?" Haymitch interrupts my train of thought.

"Uh, sorry?" I say. My head hurts.. Oh god, it hurts...

Haymitch sighs again, setting his bottle of alcohol down on the glossy mahogany table.

"We need to talk," he says, and I know that from his tone that it's serious. He never sounds like this. It's almost scary. His forehead has become creased with anxiety and his limp, thinned hair hangs almost tiredly around him. His clouded gray eyes are etched with worry. It seems like he hasn't been getting much sleep.

"Well.. Then let's talk," I say, but Haymitch doesn't say a word. He casts his eyes downwards and clasps his hands together in his lap, fidgeting with them.

We sit in silence for another few moments before he finally speaks. His eyes are still averted from my gaze. His words are slow, precise, and measured. Rehearsed.

"Cato was never your ally," he begins.

I stare at him blankly. He doesn't know what he's talking about. He must be blind. The whole nation saw that clearly, Cato saved me from Clove's attack. And, clearly, we were on the same side throughout the whole Games. Didn't he see? But I'm too immersed in what Haymitch has to say, so I purse my lips to refrain from snapping at him and wait for him to continue.

He eyes me carefully, and says "I need to show you something. But not right now, alright?"

"Show me what?" My curiosity gets the better of me. What is it he has to show me? Why would he say that Cato was never my ally? And why can't he just talk?

He stands up out of his chair, straightens his shirt and clears his throat. "See if you can meet me back at our floor tonight."

"Please, just tell me," I find myself whispering, staring at the mirror. Staring at myself. I meet the face of a fresh, clean girl, free of stitches and cuts and bruises. It isn't me. But she does retain one part of me that I've always had—ever since the Games began. The clear confusion embedded in her expression. Everything I'm dying to know is right on the tip of my mentor's tongue, yet he says nothing. It's complete torture.

He looks back down at me, attempting a sympathetic smile. "Later, sweetheart. I made a mistake in coming here. Now isn't the time."

And he leaves. He just _leaves _me here, hanging. I watch with desperation as my answers and source of clarity leave with him, breezing through the hospital door. Whatever he had to say, he obviously didn't want to say it now. The horrifying thoughts of what he would possibly have to show me creep into my mind, but I push them out with determination. What could have gone wrong?

* * *

**Cato**

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

I groan silently and force my eyes open. The first thing I see is a blinding light placed directly above my head. Then, there's the discomfort of some useless tubes sticking into my arm, which I rip out. I rub my head tiredly and almost feel a ripping sensation in my back. Ouch. That must have been the spot where Clove stabbed me.

I tentatively touch the spot, finding that the doctors have mostly healed it. All that remains is a shallow cut. Also, the injury on my shoulder from Peeta's knife is healed, too. In fact, most of my body is back to normal, except for the still-soft cut in my back, which I realize is probably in the process of healing.

I close my eyes again as I try to remember everything. It doesn't take much effort. I had pushed Katniss down to the ground and saved her life, gotten stabbed by Clove, and almost died from a little black berry. All that happened yesterday. And today, it feels like a dream.

Suddenly, the door flies open revealing my favorite person. Figures. She's the last person I see before I enter the arena and the first person I see when I get back from it.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Enobaria fumes as she storms in and slams the soundproof door behind her. The room shakes ever so slightly.

"Good to see you too, Enobaria," I wince as my back shifts against the cold sheets of the bed. Damn it, couldn't Clove have chosen a less harmful knife?

The memories flood my mind once again, as if I didn't have enough of them in my dreams and thoughts. Clove…Clove who died. It's reality. It happened. I have to face the fact that I'll continue living the rest of my life without her. There's always going to be the strange, empty space beside me from now on.

And Katniss.

I can't even think about her without my head pounding like an alarm. Is she alright? She must be, she didn't get injured that badly, and the doctors here do all they can to ensure the victors are back to normal as soon as possible.

Victors. The word is familiar, yet different. Never would I have imagined there to be two. But somehow, Katniss made it possible. Katniss and her trick with the berries, playing the Gamemakers themselves. No one would dare do that, no one would dare to challenge the government. In a way, challenging the Gamemakers was like offending the President himself. I wonder how he's taking it.

"Maybe I should wait until you feel better," Enobaria sneers at me, and I realize that I've been staring off into space for the past minute.

"No, please don't," I say sarcastically. "Lecture me as you were planning on doing. I do love your speeches."

She scowls at me before speaking again, "What you did, Cato, was _unacceptable._"

"And what did I do?" I blink innocently at her.

"Don't give me that crap, you little mutt! You know what I mean!" says Enobaria, her voice rising. "You didn't follow through with the plan! You let Clove stab you instead! That filthy coal girl wouldn't even be alive right now if you only followed through!" Enobaria is practically yelling now. "All you had to do was just let Clove stab her, Cato. Then you could have easily killed her off in the end, and you would have won it!"

"Well, I did win it," I say shortly, "And I'm here now. So what's the big deal?"

"The big deal," Enobaria says glowering at me, "is that you let that insufferable coal girl live. She shouldn't be alive, Cato."

"And what does it matter to you?" I ask frigidly.

"Actually, let me ask you," says Enobaria, "What does it matter to _you_? What does she matter to you?"

At first, I don't understand her meaning. But then I realize that she's flipping the question on me. She wants to know why I did what I did, even though I'm not completely sure myself.

"She matters. She just does," I say. I don't bother backing up my statement, because then everything would turn into a confusing mess. Why I saved her in the end, why I didn't kill her, why I agreed to fake suicide with her. It's all too difficult to explain. "And I don't see why you're making this more complicated than it should be bec—"

"Oh, _I'm_ making it complicated?!" she explodes, cutting me short, and I'm thankful the walls are soundproof. "You screwed it up! We were so close to tasting victory, once again, and you had to let _her_ have a share! Why didn't you just kill her? What has gotten into that head of yours, to make you think it was alright for her to win too?"

"Stop being so fucking selfish," I snap at her, "There's nothing wrong with having two victors."

"We're talking about Twelve here! "

"Yes, we are," I say bluntly, "What do you want me to do—take it back? It's not like I can go back in time and kill her!" My head is spinning again and I run a hand through my hair agitatedly. I can't change anything now. What's done is done.

Enobaria's voice suddenly lowers, dangerously quiet. "Fine. I'll let you think what you want of that slum rat. But Snow isn't happy, Cato. He wants a reason. He wants to know why you two did what you did. You know what it looked like to the rest of the nation?"

I don't answer. Instead, I find a particular fascination in the hospital wall décor.

"It looked like you two were purposely having fun at the Gamemakers' expense," she says, "And Snow wants a cover up."

"So?" I say. "So what does he want me to do? What could I possibly do now that I'm a victor to make him happy?" Now my own voice is rising.

Snow can't blame this on me. Katniss came up with the idea first. She was the one who wanted for both of us to win, which I had already known wasn't going to end well. But for some reason, I couldn't reject that look on her face, that last piece of hope that we would both live. Both of us.

"We don't know yet, mutt," Enobaria says, sighing tiredly. She seems to have finally calmed down, and now slumps in her chair, her permanent scowl still resting on her face. She glares at me. "But you'd better brace yourself for whatever he has in mind," she adds, "He's usually quite…generous…with his punishments, as you know."


	13. The Beauty and the Beast

**Katniss**

"You asked to see me?" I say, lightly tapping on the door. It's strange to be back here. It hasn't changed—the modern decorations and steel table are still in place. The room is spacious and clearly not designed for comfort, but for style. Everything is too fancy.

Haymitch looks up from where's he's sitting on the couch, and nods. "Yes, come, sit." he says gesturing for me to sit next to him. I walk over uncertainly and take a seat in the velvety cushion. I obsessively run my hands through the material, awaiting his next few words. Maybe he'll be able to answer my questions.

He doesn't. Instead, he picks up a small curved object and slides his finger down effortlessly the smooth glassy surface of it. It hums with energy and lights up. Then a screen materializes onto the brick wall in front of us.

"This is something you need to see," he says, his voice sounding urgent, yet his expression haggard and full of tiredness. I wonder why's he's so tired, but then I realize that he must have stayed up all those nights during the Games, to watch over me and make sure that I was okay. Maybe he's a better mentor than I'd thought.

I take a nervous breath and nod. "Go... Go on?"

He touches a glowing dot that appears on the remote control, and a video begins to play. It's footage from the Hunger Games. My Games. I see the familiar flickering of a fire near the Cornucopia, and four figures around it.

But the focus isn't on me. Instead, the focus is on Cato and Clove who are talking quietly, huddled up around the fire. They must be keeping watch. From the looks of it, it's around day three in the arena. Glimmer is still alive, peacefully sleeping next to me. It appears as though I'm sleeping too, but then I remember. This was the night where I had eavesdropped on Cato and Clove. Why is Haymitch showing me this? I already know what happened.

Haymitch turns the volume up as Clove speaks.

"So, what's the plan?" she says, her lips curving into a sly smile.

Well... I don't remember her saying this. I had probably tuned them out for the first few minutes. Then I suppose I got bored, and decided to listen in on them in the middle of their conversation.

"Plan?" says Cato.

"Yeah… there's always got to be a plan," says Clove. I wonder what they're talking about. Is it the plan to find and kill all the tributes?

"Fine. So does this mean that we're sticking to the whole betrayal scheme Enobaria told us about?"

I run through all the possibilities of who Cato could possibly be talking about, though the list is slim. Glimmer? But no, he never did seem to care for her…

Clove says "If you're willing to act like Lover Boy, then yes."

"We both know I can't do that." He stabs down into the ground with his knife, frustrated.

"Well? Let's see you try. Pretend you like her. Say some nice things about her."

"Seriously? This isn't acting class, Clove."

"Haymitch.." I say, "Is this—"

Haymitch only shushes me and shoots me a look. I know that whatever it is, I don't have a choice. He needs me to watch this.

"You're going to have to do a lot of pretending and acting if you want to put on a good show," she whispers. It's barely audible, but I catch it. Acting and pretending isn't usually part of the Games, so why is Clove so intent on having it happen? And why does she want Cato to act?

"We'll have to kill of Lover Boy first, anyway. If she's in love with him there's no way she'll fall for this," Cato says uncertainly.

It takes me a moment to finally figure who he's talking about. "Lover Boy", meaning Peeta, meaning his lover, meaning…

Me.

I want to ask a million questions, but I tightly purse my lips and force myself to continue watching, keeping my eyes glued to the screen.

"Just. Try." Clove rolls her eyes. "Say some random stuff about her, like "Oh, Katniss has beautiful eyes," or some crap like that."

"Um… okay. Katniss is actually really nice, you know. I was pretty surprised when she volunteered for her sister. I think that's why I saved her from the fire today. I honestly don't want to see her die." His expression has turned into one of sadness, which Clove bursts out laughing at.

My chest tightens at this as I realize what Clove had meant by acting. She had meant that she wanted Cato to show me something I had always wanted to see in him. Kindness. But it was all fake. My heart begins to race as the reality of the past week, the true _reality_, finally dawns on me. An unfamiliar prickling sensation begins to form in the back of my eyes, but I furiously blink and continue watching. No. It can't be true.

"And she's also sort of cute when she smiles," he adds.

At this, Clove's face breaks into a smirk. "Oh, so now you _like _her. I always thought you did," she says playing along. Cato looks at her in surprise, but she only winks. "You can't just do this without expecting me to play too, Cato. You know I love these games," she whispers.

So Clove was in it too.

"Pshh, I didn't say I _liked_ her. I just don't want her to die." Cato says modestly.

"You're good." She says unable to contain her giggling.

And with that, the video ends, and Haymitch touches the remote to make the screen disappear.

"Now, before you say anything, sweetheart—" Haymitch begins, but I cut him off.

"Why did you show this to me?" I whisper, still staring at the blank wall in front of me.

"Because you needed to see it." He says firmly, and brushes a strand of hair from his rugged face, "And you need to know the truth." His eyes are sad, but his face is set with determination.

"But why?" I say. The prickling sensation in my eyes returns, and I look down at my hands which are curled up into fists. This can't be true.

"Katniss, you need to know that this boy isn't who you think he is," says Haymitch. He's gazing at me intently, still waiting for his answer. But he isn't going to get it.

Instead, I stand up abruptly. "I don't know anything anymore. Guess I never have." My voice breaks at the very end of my sentence. And with that, I blindly turn. I turn and run, not knowing where to go, but only knowing that I can't stay here any longer.

* * *

_(The next day)_

**Cato**

"Don't touch me!" I snap at my annoying prep team. They're faces are a mixture of green and pink surprise. As hard as I try to tolerate them, they always manage to get on my nerves.

"Oh, but Cato! We must if we want to get that unmanageable hair under control!" Xenta says, pursing her magenta lips tightly and staring at my hair, which is stubbornly sticking up as usual. We've been going through this dumb "beauty base zero" treatment for the past half hour. It's more than I can stand.

"I don't want any freaking gel in it," I mutter. Nothing feels like it belongs. My body feels strange enough without all the scars and bruises marking my skin, and the strong smell of cologne is overwhelming my senses. It's just a ceremony, after all. But I suppose that every public appearance I make from now on will be critiqued by all who watch.

Xenta sighs. "Fine," she says in a resigned voice. "Yeveline, spray Power Hold on it then."

Yeveline grabs a clear bottle of something, shakes it thoroughly, and mists it into my hair. It's lightweight and almost feels natural, and keeps my hair in place with surprising strength. At least it's better than the gel.

"There," Xenta finally smiles with pride as she takes a step back to admire her work. I've been put into a dark gray suit, which my stylist has mentioned something about being associated with eyes. I don't really get it though since my eye color is blue, not grey. Zala straightens my tie and beams at me. Yeveline adds last minute touchups to my face, and then I hear a voice. It's Enobaria calling me. I take a deep breath and disengage myself from the absurd trio of freaks.

The area down here has obviously been rearranged so that there are two separate sections. A loose, white sheet that serves as a wall hangs between my side and Katniss' side. A strong light shines on her side and outlines her figure. I catch myself staring and curse silently, turning my head away. Can't stare.

Enobaria shows up out of nowhere. She looks grouchy as always, but she also has a hint of worry in her expression, her jaw clenched tightly.

"Enobaria," I address her coolly.

"Cato," she says just as evenly, "There's been a change of plans. Last minute thing."

"What?" I raise an eyebrow. Why is she telling me this _now? _

"President Snow, he wants you two, you and Coal girl, to continue the act."

"What do you mean?" I say, feeling the confusion fill my thoughts.

"The act from the Games, stupid mutt." She glares at me, "He wants you to continue treating her as an ally, as a friend. Act like you've grown so close to her that you just couldn't see her die. Understand? Pretend she's Clove. Pretend that the reason you agreed to do that berry trick was because you couldn't bear to continue living without her."

My shock overwhelms my annoyance that Enobaria still refuses to acknowledge the fact that I saved Katniss because I wanted to, not for the act.

"That's ridiculous!" I say, "No one is going to believe this, you know they won't."

"They will, trust me," says Enobaria, "The film producers are very…persuading. Just go along with it. Anyways, you started this game. Now, you're ending it."

Oh. The film. A short film is shown every year as a recap of the year's Games, shown during the ceremony, of course. There's usually a theme that goes along with each one. I wonder how they're going to pull this off. This Games has got to be the hardest one to figure out in history. There's the complicated change of my plan, acting like Katniss' friend, saying I'm her enemy, saving her in the end, showing up the Capitol. It'll drive everyone crazy. Hell, it's already driving me crazy.

Suddenly, I realize what this means. Katniss! She'll know about everything! Fuck!

"Enobaria," I say urgently, "This means Katniss is going to find out about my original plan, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Enobaria says rolling her silver-lidded eyes, "But that isn't important. It doesn't matter what she thinks of you now, or what you think of her. You aren't in the Games anymore. All you have to do now is concentrate on pretending that you're best buddies with her, got it?"

"But—"

Enobaria instantly silences me as a message comes through in her headpiece. She nods at me.

"I'm up and out in fifteen seconds," she grimaces and shoves me roughly on the shoulder. It's her way of saying good luck. "Remember, act like you care." And with that, she turns around and steps onto a platform which raises her up to stage level. The cheers of thousands of people greet her. My escort follows her, my stylist, then my prep team.

A rush of adrenaline shoots through my body. If they're showing the video, then that means Katniss will find out the truth and will know everything that's been happening. No, it'll all go wrong. She was never supposed to know. She'll hate me.

But why do I care? I shouldn't give a fuck about her feelings. I should just be glad I'm alive. Maybe I can exchange a short _thank you for saving my life,_ and then a _now get out of my life _with her during the ceremony.

On my cue, I step onto the awaiting platform. Slowly, I rise up until I'm up on stage. I see Katniss who is about ten feet away, wearing a soft, light yellow dress. Her hair is swept up and away from her face, where her cheeks are pink and rosy. And on her shoulder rests the golden mockingjay pin, gleaming ever so brightly. I haven't seen her looking this normal in a while.

But through all the beauty and gentleness that seems to surround her, she's staring at me with such intensity I almost look away. Almost, but I don't. Instead, I meet the gaze of her darkened, stormy gray eyes, wondering to myself what has made her so suddenly alert.

* * *

**Katniss**

I meet the icy, blue stare of Cato's eyes, and see everything that truly belongs there. Its deceit that stands out the most, though. He's just another cold and calculating Career. He never cared about me. He lied continuously throughout the Games and schemed with Clove behind my back. So I stare at him with as much intensity and hatred as I can muster, letting him know how I feel.

How am I supposed to do what Haymitch as told me to do? How can I pretend that Cato is my new best friend, when he _lied_ to me? I can't even look at him without wanting to slap him, and everyone knows I'm a bad actor. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice whispers this is never going to work. At least the Capitol audience is gullible, and the filmmakers are persuasive in communicating the theme.

The blinding spotlight finds me and I order myself to move. The roaring of the crowd fills my ears and drowns out any other thoughts I had. I take a step in my soft leather flats, and begin to carefully walk over to Caesar, who is excitedly beckoning me over. Somehow, I end up on the white plush sofa. My silky yellow dress Cinna has so delicately designed splays out across my knees. It has been made to resemble candlelight—innocence. I'll need it.

Cato sits next to me only a few seconds later, and I distance myself from him as much as I can. Then I remember- I'm supposed to pretend to like him. But it doesn't matter because he's already scooted closer to me anyway.

He wears a slight smirk as usual and waits for the crowd to finish their cheering and clapping. He looks relaxed and dreadfully calm, as if nothing had ever happened between us. Although he's got a charming, swoon-worthy smile on his face, he seems cold underneath. His icy eyes are alert and searching the room, looking everywhere, meeting everything and everyone except for me.

I uncomfortably shift in my chair. I don't want to be close to him. In fact, I have to resist the urge to run away from him. I force myself not to think about it. Pretend I've never watched the video. That nothing has changed. He's still an ally. At least, for now. Later, I tell myself, later I can let my feelings rampage and allow myself to hate him. But now, I only hold my breath as I wait for Caesar to speak, finding that I'm trembling from nervousness and barely contained irritation.

"Cato, Katniss!" Caesar says with a bright grin. "Wonderful to see you both again!" His hair is a golden color, matching his powdered metallic eyelids. He extends his hand to me and I shake it, hoping he doesn't mind the fact that my palms are sweaty. He shakes Cato's hand too. Then he gives us another warm smile before continuing.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sure you are all dying to hear from our victors!" The audience screams with excitement. Caesar quickly holds a hand up. "But first, we will watch a short recap of this year's Hunger Games!"

And right on cue, music begins playing, and a screen appears. No, there are many screens, each in various locations and all showing the same film.

There's nothing that I don't know. The only thing keeping me wondering is what the Gamemakers have chosen to be the theme, and how they will present it.

It begins with me and Cato on the first day, him capturing me into the alliance, then slapping my cheek, and yelling at me for trying to tell him to do what was right. Obviously, that must have been before he and Clove had gone into detail on their plan. This segment seems to have specifically been made to show our strong dislike and indifference toward each other.

Then, there's the clip of us running away from the fire. The conversation he has with Clove that night is the exact same as what Haymitch had shown me. Except, now, I'm expecting it, and it all suddenly makes so much sense. It makes sense why he had suddenly become so nice to me, why he didn't "want me to die", the compliments, the kind gestures. They were all fake.

The intensity builds as the audience goes wild over the fact that Cato is my worst enemy, yet I don't know it. My breath hitches as a particular scene of us is shown. It's evening, and the sun is setting. Slow melodic notes drift from the speakers as golden sunlight reaches Cato and I, resting in the grassy field. I'm about to fall asleep, and Cato is staring at me with an expression that I had never noticed until now. He almost looks sad. Now, I realize what he was probably thinking of. The fact that he would have to kill me, very, very soon.

But why would he look so cheerless? Shouldn't he have been excited? Or maybe, even wearing that sly look Clove always has on? At this point, the storyline has obviously taken a turn. The filmmakers have made it look as if Cato had changed his mind about wanting to backstab me, and that he had acquired feelings for me. I wish it were true.

After another minute of alternating between segments of Cato and I, and the rest of the tributes (it turns out that everyone had worked against us after all), the film finally reaches the climax. I don't even want to watch what happens next, but I know that I have to.

Cato pulls me into his arms. Clove, clearly now shown as the enemy, advances with her knife raised and a malicious smile on her face. She's right about to stab me when Cato pushes me down and Clove's hand sails downwards, slicing him in the back instead. It looks so different when I'm watching it. Cato has me in his arms, making it look like he's protectively shielding me from the blow, and taking it instead. Certain angles of the fight are shown to make it more dramatic. Honestly, all I remember was trying not to be killed.

Then there's the ending. Cato and I take out the berries. A touching song plays at the end, and I wonder if the producers of the film were also let in on the plan. That they had to make it seem like Cato and I didn't want to kill each other because we wouldn't be able to live without each other.

It's all too much, but I can tell from the sighs of the audience that it's exactly what they had hoped it to be. Nothing is ever too dramatic here in the Capitol. This recap's theme was clearly highlighted—emotions overpower the want to kill. It almost seems like…like Snow wants Cato and I to be the next starcrossed lovers. But it's impossible, it'll never happen, even if it is just for show and to tame any potential uprisings.

Uprisings. Haymitch told me they were the reason for this plan. I don't remember much about the Dark Days, since I was never really good at paying attention in school. But I do know that they were filled with fear, war, and hate. And it all began with the uprisings. If history truly repeats itself…will the Dark Days make a comeback?

I look up at the applauding audience and give them a half-hearted smile before standing up. I feel Cato moving next to me, but don't even look at him. We haven't said a word to each other ever since the film started.

President Snow and a little girl holding a box walk towards Cato and I. The box is open, and reveals a single golden crown. I'm confused at first, shouldn't there be two crowns? But then he twists the crown in half, and it separates into two pieces. He goes to Cato first, smiling as he places one half of the crown on his head. When the President reaches me, his smile has somehow reached one of loathing.

"Congratulations, Miss Everdeen," he murmurs as he places the crown on my head.

I stare into his snake-like eyes, and try not to blink. "Thank you."

"Quite a feat you managed," he continues as he brushes a strand of hair from my face. I freeze at the contact. "You must really… love Cato."

What?_ Love? _Where is this all coming from? One moment he says that "friends" will suffice, and now it's _love?_

"I do," I say, putting on the most convincing voice I can manage. He studies me carefully, and nods, as if he's finally decided that my acting is sufficient. "Yes, you do," he whispers, before turning and walking away. It's almost a reminder. I do.

* * *

Once I get back to my bedroom in our compartment, I scrub the makeup off of my face and change into pants and a shirt. I look into the mirror and see someone who looks more like Katniss Everdeen. Not a tribute, not a killer, not a victor, and definitely not someone in love. Just me.

I sigh and carefully hang my dress in the closet. I have nothing now but my mockingjay pin, which I secure onto my shirt. It's a reminder of home. Home, where I get to go right after the interview tomorrow. I'll get to see everyone. Prim, Gale, mother, everyone! I suddenly smile at the thought of returning to my normal life, except it'll be even better now that I'll be rich and no longer starving.

There's a soft knock on the door. I pause before going to open it only enough to see who it is. It's Cato. I almost slam the door shut on him, but he leans on it to keep me from doing so.

"Katniss, please, let me in. We need to talk," he says. His expression is softened, and he looks so different now. He's wearing a simple white t-shirt and pants instead of the arena uniform, and his soft blond hair is slightly disheveled. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought that he was just a regular person, or even a friend. But he's not.

So I don't say anything.

"Just..let me explain," he says, and when I still don't respond, he pushes the door open. I find that I'm slowly backing away from him as he walks towards me. He doesn't look like he has any intentions of harming me, but I still don't believe it. After all he's done in the arena, I just don't know.

* * *

**Cato**

She looks so scared. I hate it this way.

"Please, just listen," I say, wincing when I realize that I've resorted to pleading. She's backed up against the wall now. I suddenly feel like what I truly am. A person everyone fears. Some sort of Capitol engineered mutt designed to kill, and only kill.

"You lied," she finally says. "I thought…I thought you were my ally." Her voice crumbles as she casts her eyes down at the ground.

"I know," I say steadily. I take a step closer to her.

"Go away," she says venomously, although she shrinks back against the wall. Her palms press up against it and she stares at me with distrust.

"I can't," I confess.

"Why not? Didn't seem like you had a hard time leaving me in the arena," she says bitterly.

"Don't you understand?" I say, frustrated. "I can't leave you, Katniss. If I could, I would have. I would have killed you, you know. But I didn't."

"Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"You know what I mean," her voice rises, and her temper flares as she looks me in the eye. "Why did you plot against me?! Why did you have to pretend to be nice to me, just to hurt me in the end?! Was it for fun? Did you honestly think it would be fun to see me at your mercy and with a knife in my back, Cato? Did you think that—"

"Stop it!" I demand.

"No I will not stop!" she yells back, "You don't understand!"

"Do NOT tell me what I don't understand!" My fists are clenched and shaking, and my breathing rapidly increases. What the fuck is she thinking, that I wanted to kill her? I saved her life!

"Well then explain! At least _tell _me what was running through your mind the whole time! Why? _Why why why _did you pretend?"

"Fine," I grit my teeth, "I'll explain. This has nothing to do with whether or not I found it entertaining. I was just jealous of you. You were just a lowly twelve girl, yet you got more attention, sponsors, _and_ a better score than I did. I despised you. It was all out of anger, but as the Games went on, well, I didn't want to do it anymore. Clove did, but I didn't."

"Well why did you go through with it, then?"

"Because I didn't want everyone to see me quit. I wanted to taste the victory I've been waiting for all my life. I didn't want to disappoint."

"So you put all that before me? You put the want for fame in front of a human life?" Katniss says in disbelief.

"No, I didn't! Don't you get it? I obviously didn't if I decided to save your life in the end!" I shout.

"So? Why did you save me?" her voice hardens as she crosses her arms over her chest. She stares at me in defiance, and her eyes have darkened with anger.

This brings up the question I've been asking myself all along. I had worked so hard to set it all up. It was perfect. All that was left to do was to kill her. So why didn't I? Why didn't I let her die?

"I don't know! It didn't feel right, I just couldn't do it."

"You betrayed me! You were planning on backstabbing me the whole time!" says Katniss furiously.

"I know."

"I should hate you for it!"

"I know." I repeat.

"You're a liar."

"I fucking KNOW I'm a liar! Now just shut up and stop trying to rub it in my face, thinking that you're so much bet—"

And then it happens. She walks up and slaps me, her expression furious. I look at her in shock as my cheek stings, and then tingles from the impact. It's just like what I had done to her in the arena. I inhale sharply as the realization hits me. So she does hate me after all.

"You're just a coward who was too afraid to like me," she whispers, her grey eyes shooting daggers at mine, "A manipulative, deceitful, heartless coward. You didn't care about how I would feel. So neither should I."

I want to tell her she's wrong, that I do care. Just not…. Oh, fuck, what am I thinking? I _do not _care about her in any way other than as an ally. I don't know how to tell her though. It's just too complicated. "You don't get it," I say, "That was when we were in the arena. We aren't in it anymore. Things are different."

"You played with me like I was just another piece, like the Capitol people play with me, hell, like President Snow plays, and you expect things to be different now that we're out of the arena?!" Katniss fires back, scowling at me. Her bottom lip quivers and I can't decide whether she's on the brink of crying or another angry outburst. But I can't see her crying. Not the Girl on Fire.

I open my mouth to reply, but she speaks first.

"You know what?" Her voice suddenly sounds broken, old, and neglected. She exhales slowly, and I can feel the tension in the air simmering around us. Her arms are still crossed and she stares down at the ground with enough intensity to set it on fire. And then her gaze shifts to me, almost with pure hatred. "Just… Just get out of here. Leave. And don't come back."


	14. No Pressure, Dear

**Cato**

She looks up at me, daring me to leave. But through all the anger she radiates, I can tell that she's hurt. What I've done to her isn't something I can just apologize for. I know that I can't talk to her at the moment, there's no point in trying to reason with her. So I nod, and turn around, walking away slowly and hoping that she'll maybe change her mind, and maybe want to sort things out with me. But she doesn't.

Damn. This was nothing like I had expected it to be like. No clear apology or forgiveness, no sympathetic glances from either of us, or shrugs of indifference. Just raw and uncontrolled anger, and for some reason, it makes me feel like something's crumpled up inside of me, like a strong, healthy plant has withered up and now there is nothing left but dusty remains. Maybe that's how it feels like to be rejected.

* * *

The next morning is uneventful. I am supposed to be preparing for the interview, but instead, I end up pacing back and forth in my apartment and feeling the frustration finally sink in. Why the hell is she so mad at me? I saved her life. I didn't kill her. I should have, but I didn't. Yeah, the whole backstabbing plan was cruel, but she should have known it was something to expect. It's the Games, it's all for entertainment.

I stop when I notice something on my dresser. It's a simple, white letter, neatly folded with my name written on it in sloppy cursive. I must have been too preoccupied to notice it earlier. The handwriting…it can't be.

I walk over and pick it up, unfolding it quickly.

_Dear Cato,_

_I'm so happy and excited that you won the Games! Now you can come home! I knew you would win. I missed you so much. Catnip is very pretty. I am glad that you like her. You never like anyone, except for me, I think. I hope that she loves you too. You two are the only people the TV stations at the gym are showing! Okay, I have to go. Coach Jenalee is calling, she wants me to lift weights. They're twenty whole pounds! I wish you could help me! Training is soooo hard. But maybe in ten years, when I'm your age, I'll be like you, and I'll get to go to the Games too._

–_Gaphne_

_PS. Tell Catnip I like her mockingjay pin. Wish I had one too. _

A grin spreads across my face as I read through the letter. Gaphne…I have to admit, I've actually missed her. Throughout the past two weeks, I've tried my best not to think about her. She would be a distraction. Occasionally, I would have a thought of her flicker across my mind, like when I killed that girl from Eleven. Her big eyes and tiny stature reminded me too much of Gaphne. Now, I realize that I can go home and live life normally again. Except things wouldn't be that normal anymore. I wouldn't have to sneak out into the woods to go hunting with my little accomplice. I wouldn't have to help her find a place to sleep every night. No, she could just move in with me. And I definitely wouldn't have to stay with my parents anymore. Things would be perfect.

I look back at her letter, and feel a sense of guilt. _But maybe in ten years, when I'm your age, I'll be like you, and I'll get to go to the Games too._ I had emphasized my dream, my goal, so much, that I've rubbed off on her. Now she's declared her goal too, and it's disturbing to know that her goal is the exact same as mine. She wants to go to the death Games. Not that she wouldn't know how to handle it—she's fierce and getting to be tough—but still, it isn't something that I want her to be doing. I feel even worse knowing that all this eagerness that she's acquired has come from years of listening to me rant about wanting to become a victor.

"Cato?" An irritated voice calls from outside my bedroom. "You better get the hell outta there right now, or I'll sink my teeth into your—"

"Coming!" I yell, and scowl at her annoying, useless threats. Before I leave, I refold the letter and place it back down on my dresser. Somehow I'll have to write back to her, when I have the time. Maybe after this interview is over with. I push the door open and don't bother to apologize to Enobaria when it hits her in the face.

* * *

**Katniss**

"The interview will be simply _fabulous_!" Effie chirps as she leads me to the dressing room, where Cinna and my prep team will be waiting for me.

The interview. Dread courses through me as I realize that I have to go through with the whole love concept again. I have to sit next to Cato and pretend for an hour that I love him. I don't want to have to answer Caesar's questions as innocently as I can. But I do have to remember what I'm doing this for. Not to stop uprisings, but so that no one gets hurt because of me.

I push open the double doors and see Cinna making some alterations to a blue dress. He turns around and smiles warmly at me before enveloping me in a hug.

"How are you doing?" he whispers into my ear.

"Fine. But, it's hard to…to pretend. I just wanna go home," I whisper back quietly, making sure not to let anyone else hear.

Cinna nods, patting my back, and I'm grateful that he understands. He's the only friend I have at the moment.

"Well, Fire Girl," he says taking a step back. "I've got something that you might like." There's the twinkle in his eye he always gets whenever he's made a new creation. I wonder what it is.

He turns around an opens up a wardrobe door, pulling out a dress with a flourish.

But oh, it isn't just any dress. It's a lovely, soft pink creation that has lace and ruffles down the side. It's the perfect definition of "pretty". And it's exactly what I need to convince the world that I'm not some rebellious girl on fire. I'm just an innocent young girl who has done nothing wrong to upset the Capitol.

"I think...this is what you need," he says eyeing me carefully, and I nod.

"It's exactly what I need," I confirm. He helps me put it on. It's so light and fluffy, it almost magically floats around me, ending right above my knees. I slip into a pair of peachy flats. My hair is pulled back in a simple, white lace headband. Light makeup is applied to my face and I am sprayed with a glittery mist.

"Oh, you look like an angel!" Effie gushes, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Now, come, the interview begins in only a few minutes!" she giggles, "No pressure, dear!"

No pressure? Yeah, right. The whole _country _is going to be watching this. If I mess this up, not only will the uprisings happen, but Snow will have his opportunity to snatch away my family and make my life hell.

At least the interview is filmed. I don't like having the pressure of thousands of people in front of me and watching me. I take a deep breath and tell myself that after this, I am free to go home. I just have to be careful with what I say.

Caesar greets me once I'm inside the room, and I see that Cato has also already arrived. He sits in another one of those horrid loveseats, and I slowly walk over, not meeting his eyes. After last night, I don't even want to look at him.

I sit gingerly on the edge of the seat. Unfortunately, it has been designed so that there is no extra space in between two people, so I still end up being only about an inch away from Cato. I awkwardly place my hands in my lap and wish that my dress was longer.

I nervously allow my gaze to wander up, slowly, until I finally get a good look at him. He looks…unaffected, if anything, by last night. His expression remains cool and indifferent. Of course, it's just the outer shell. Just the mask. I wonder what he's really thinking. Is his head a swirling pit of anger? Is it true sympathy? Or was it all fake, just like how he had acted in the Games?

"We're live in two minutes." A voice calls out from somewhere behind the cameras. While we wait, Caesar smiles kindly at us and tries to make conversation. It doesn't work because my nerves are too tense and I can barely talk. Oh god, how am I supposed to go through with this interview? So instead, I remain silent as Cato comfortably jokes around with Caesar, mentioning something about rose scented soap. He seems to be intent on ignoring me. That means it'll be even worse when we're forced to speak to and about each other during the interview.

I'm still livid over the fact that President Snow has forced me into this act. I hate acting. I hate lying, and not knowing what's real or not. Maybe that's why I'm so angry at Cato, because he lied to me so much during the Games. I just want the truth, that's all. And now, here I am, about to lie to the whole world. About to present the "truth", that I'm in love with Cato.

I'm such a hypocrite.

"And…we're on." The voice says, and I sit up straight and manage to put on a friendly smile, or some sort of smile. Well, whatever it is, it's better than sulking.

Caesar begins as usual with a few jokes to get started, and some introductory lines. Then, he begins to ask us the questions. At first, I'm able to get by with a simple "yes" or "no", but soon he starts to ask us questions that require more detail and thinking. My heart pumps faster as I realize that this is where I need to start implying the fact that I did it all for love. But how? I'm horrible with speaking.

"So, Cato, tell me. When do you think you began to see Katniss differently, and not just as an ally?" Caesar says.

"Well, I think it was the day when we set out for Peeta, and killed him," Cato says slowly. My chest pangs with guilt at the mention of Peeta's name. Here I am, once again pretending, but not with him. With someone else. "The realization hit me. That Katniss cared so much for someone. And… it made me feel something weird, like I wanted to care too. Before, I just felt really empty on the inside. But once I saw her, and realized the reason I was getting these strange feelings was because of her, I wanted to be closer to her. That was probably when I wanted to be more than allies with her."

Caesar sighs dramatically, "It was truly beautiful, Cato."

I stare at Cato, slightly shocked. How did he manage to say something so believable? Even I almost believed it. The words flowed out of his mouth perfectly, as if he had wanted to say it all along.

"And you, Katniss? When did you begin to feel different towards him? And what did you think when you realized that Cato wasn't the person you thought he was?"

_You're right, Caesar. He isn't who I thought he was. He's actually just a cold hearted, evil, obnoxious little…_

"Well," I say, praying for some miracle to happen. I stare down at my shoes and feel my face redden. "I…"

"If I may," Caesar interjects, and I nod thankfully, "The moment that truly touched me was when you helped bandage him after he was wounded. You seemed so kind and concerned. I just _knew_ you had changed your attitude towards him, Katniss."

I laugh lightly. "Yes, that's when I began feeling different. I knew things were changing between us."

Cato places his hand on mine and clasps it tightly. I almost flinch, but I manage to remain calm. Steady breaths. One, two. One, two. It's just Cato. I won't snap. I won't break. I certainly won't start cursing at him and give him another well-deserved slap. I will endure this.

"Changing for the better," Cato smiles at me, even though it's more of a smirk, since I'm positive he doesn't know how to truly smile. Although he seems glad to be with me, I can't help but feel the coldness and masked sneer that I know is there.

We hear the "aww"s and happy murmurs from others in the room. Caesar blinks quickly before saying "And please, Katniss, explain to us how you felt when Cato had saved you from Clove's knife. Oh, it looked horrifying!"

"It was." I agree, and say "I felt.." I want to say confused, but I know that I can't. A lovesick girl wouldn't be confused. "I felt like the luckiest person in the world," I say dreamily. I hear a quiet snort of disbelief coming from Cato, and know that I must have sounded ridiculous. I ignore him. "To be saved by the person you loved is one of the best things that can happen." For a moment, I realize that this is partially true. Cato did save my life, and I do owe him. "I obviously wouldn't be here now if it weren't for him." I add.

"Why, of course not!" Caesar says chuckling, "And thanks to you, Katniss, both of you are here! Now, could you explain to us what went through your mind when you decided to eat the nightlock instead of just have there be one victor?"

I nervously run through all of the words of advice Haymitch had given me this morning. I know he's back there with the cameras, somewhere, but I don't feel like seeking him out. This is the most crucial part of the whole interview. If I get this wrong, Snow hates me. If I manage to pull it off, I can go home, back to my family, and live. It all depends on this.

"I..." my mouth has gone dry. I want to ask someone to help, anyone, but my lips won't move. I've frozen up.

Thankfully, Caesar comes to my rescue as usual. I really owe him a lot. "Well, you did seem quite determined on not killing Cato," he smiles kindly and pauses, allowing me to pick up and explain. I'm glad he always knows how to smooth things out.

"Yes," I feel relieved. "The only thought running through my head was the one of keeping him alive. I just wouldn't be able to live without him."

Cato is staring down at the white rug, listening intently. If he feels guilty, then I'm glad. He _should_feel guilty. I'm still fuming over what happened. How could he look me in the eye at that precise moment when I handed him the berries, and know that I would die with him, even when he knew that all he had done for me was fake? How could someone let someone else die with them, when they didn't deserve to? I should have just killed him after all.

* * *

**Cato**

The rest of the interview is just as thick and layered with acting as I had imagined it to be. I can practically feel the anger coursing through the room. Katniss avoids eye contact with me, and I end up staring down at ground. I feel my hands curl into fists. I want to punch something so badly. But I keep a calm exterior and wait for Caesar to finish speaking.

After dozens more questions and answers, we are finally done. The camera light turns off, and we are dismissed.

"Excellent, you two, excellent." Caesar says beaming at us as we step out of the interview room. We don't say a word. His ecstatic smile slowly falters, as he must realize what is going on between us. "Well, I'll see you both soon, on the Tour, eh?" he says kindly.

"Yes, see you then," I say, making my voice unnecessarily cold. Caesar almost grimaces as I shake his hand.

Katniss nods stiffly towards Caesar, then turns on her heel and stalks off, heading back towards the elevator. Typical of her. The one thing she can never pull off is "friendly".

Instead of going back towards the other end of the hall, though, I run after Katniss. The second after I do so, I realize that it's probably a stupid decision. She's standing inside the elevator and doors are closing, but I manage to squeeze through just in time.

"What are you doing?" she glares at me.

"Just getting a ride up, if you don't mind," I smirk at her discomfort.

She doesn't reply, and stares at the wall instead as the doors close. Fine. If she wants it to be this way, then it'll have to be this way.

I corner her up against the wall, placing my hand right by her head. She grey eyes peer up into mine in surprise. "Stop," she hisses, "Get the hell away from me."

"Stop being so tense," I say, "Look, I'm not going to let this go. You know I had to do—"

"You didn't _have_ to do anything!" Katniss practically shouts, and I wince, "It was all your choice! You wanted to set me up! You—"

I place a finger on her lips, ignoring how soft they are, "Stop," I keep my voice deadly calm. She eyes widen momentarily and she backs even farther up against the wall. "You need to understand that I did what I did because the audience wanted to see it. Do you think I actually wanted to betray you? Do you really think that I wanted to go through with the plan? Do you honestly think that I would stand by and watch Clove kill you and twist a knife into your back? You know that I didn't," I continue, "Because in the end, I didn't kill you, like I could have."

I stare into her grey eyes. She's silent, but I can see the internal battle raging through her mind. She's twisting the verity of my statement around, through the gears of her mind, until she can make whatever I say go against me and make me sound like I'm a despicable liar. It's frustrating. She just _refuses _to believe me.

"No, like you _would_ have," she finally says.

I'm about to argue when the elevator doors open. We've reached the highest floor of the building. But I'm not done.

I impatiently push the _S _button, and the doors shut once more.

"No, I wouldn't have!" I growl. Why is it always so hard to explain this part? "I would never have killed you or even hurt you because, maybe I…" My voice trails off as I wonder how much I'm willing to tell her.

"Yeah?" she stares at me curiously.

"Because maybe I didn't want you to die after all," I say quickly, hoping it didn't sound lame.

She stares at me like I'm crazy, and lifts an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Fuck, you weren't supposed to hear that," I mutter, "Anyways," I change the subject before she can reply, "What was with the berries? I mean, what the hell were you thinking? Now we've got Snow watching us and forcing us to—"

"The berries," Katniss interrupts, "Were to keep us from killing each other. And how was I supposed to know Snow would see it as some form of rebellion?! I wasn't thinking of the Districts or the Capitol when I took them out. I had no other choice, because I truly believed, like a damn idiot, that you cared for me."

"So youbelieved that I cared for you?"

"Yeah, and now I see that clearly, I was wrong. Now could you please move?" She looks pointedly at the open doors.

"Well, what if I did care?"

It's desperate. It's ridiculous. But I'm too curious—I have to know.

Her expression softens by a fraction. "So are you saying that…you did?"

Damn it, now I've put myself in another awkward situation. "Easy now," I say smirking, "I said _what if._"

"I don't know," is her quiet response. I can't help but feel a bit disappointed that she doesn't have an answer.

"I need to get back to my room," she says fidgeting with the end of her braid.

"Yeah, me too," I say. I hesitantly back off and hit the _2 _and the _12._ We stand in an awkward silence for a moment. I fold my arms across my chest and stare at the numbers, trying to think of anything, anything except for her _I don't know. _Somehow, those words are more painful than I had expected them to be.

"So is this an apology?" she finally asks, still tugging at the end of her braid.

I suppose it's sort of an apology. I don't like the title _apology _though. It's too sappy and pathetic. I should never have to apologize for something that I can easily persuade someone to forgive me for. This is more of an explanation. My reasoning. I just don't want her to hate me anymore. It feels wrong.

"I just wanted to tell you why I did what I did, and I don't want you to take it so seriously."

"Death is pretty serious. So is betrayal," says Katniss, sarcasm lacing her voice.

"You think I don't know that?" I question. I know what I did was spiteful, harsh, brutal. But all I'm asking is for her to consider my side of the story. I just want her to know that she has the choice of letting it go, or "Forgive and Forget", as they say.

* * *

**Katniss**

When I get back to my apartment, my thoughts are a confused blur. The interview, the apology, everything that had happened in the arena. It's all slowly melting together, until I'm just so bewildered that I don't know how I'm supposed to feel anymore.

"Katniss," says Haymitch. He's holding a bottle of liquor, as usual, but he has another one of his serious, and scarily urgent looks, on his face. "You have to go see the President in his office."

"What? You mean President Snow?"

"No, President Cray," he drawls sarcastically, "Of course, President Snow! You're s'posed to see him in about half an hour or so."

"Does it have to do with the interview?" I immediately ask. My stomach does a flip as I wonder whether or not he was satisfied with it.

Haymitch shrugs, then takes a long swig from his flask before speaking again, "It might, it might not. Just know that you probably won't like what he'll have to say, but sweetheart, you're gonna have to deal with it."

* * *

I take a breath before knocking on the door.

"Come in," a gravelly voice says from within the room. I push open the door and enter the President's office. It's shaped in a perfect circle. Paintings of past Hunger Games hang up on his wall, and the room smells of roses. In the middle of the room is his mahogany desk. He sits from behind it, staring at me with his snake-like eyes. It's intimidating, but I don't let him know that.

"Hello, Katniss," he says, running his tongue over his puffy lips. "Please, sit."

I take a seat across from him, but say nothing.

He sighs and leans forward. "So, I presume things are going well between you and Cato?"

He should know. He should know how I feel right now, but I feel like this is a test, so I nod. "Yes, wonderfully."

He raises the corners of his lips as if to smile. "Excellent. Now," he pauses, and folds his hands together, still smiling. "I've called you here to give you two options, Miss Everdeen."

I'm a bit taken aback by his forwardness. He usually talks in circles until he gets me impatient and wondering what he possibly has to say to me, but today, he jumps straight to the point.

"Yes?"

I grimace, knowing that nothing he says will be good news. I wonder what he has to offer.

"You are very popular at the moment," he says, eyeing me carefully. "Many people would like to be with you."

"And?" I say, feeling my temper rise. What is he trying to say? And what does it matter to me? I don't care if people like me. The point is that I don't like them.

"And," he continues, "We could possibly make an arrangement, similar to one of Finnick Odair's. If you recall, he has—"

"Yes." I say suddenly. "I…I know about Finnick."

And then it hits me.

Oh, god, he wants me to be the next Finnick Odair. He wants me to go around, take whoever wants me, and let them do whatever they want to me. He wants me to be the next Capitol lover. This can't happen.

No, he can't make me. This can't be true. I'm not even Capitol quality; I'm not beautiful, not charming, not sexy. It's absurd. Sick. There is no possible way that I will ever do this.

"This is all by popular demand, of course," he says, as if that would make things different.

"No!" I immediately say. I don't care how much he wants me to do this, I never will. But then I pause, "What's my other choice, though?"

He smiles once again, and lowers his voice. "Your other choice? Simply put, Miss Everdeen, you will prolong your relationship with Cato. You two will be the next star-crossed lovers and will spend the rest of the year together. This, of course, will be more beneficial to me, as it helps to prove that the little…idea you had in the arena was only affected by desperate love."

It takes me a moment to register the meaning. The rest of the year. Prolonged relationship. Cato."Six months?" I ask hoarsely. This is all so sudden. What happened to going home, back to my district?

He nods, "Yes. You will make many public appearances and will be allowed visits to your District. But other than those visits, you will remain in the Capitol, and serve only to entertain the public with the romance. Both you and Carleton."

"Public appearances?"

"As in…televised programs," Snow says shrugging lightly, "All of this is what the people want, and I must satisfy those wants."

My mouth goes dry, but I manage to get the words out, "What about Cato?"

The President's eyes glint with malice, "Oh yes, your heroic lover has spoken to me, although the decision really rests on you, Miss Everdeen."

I want to know so badly, but I know he won't tell me. I'll just have to ask Cato myself. Though part of me admits, I wouldn't want him to pick the first option. Even Cato wouldn't resort to _that_, would he? I've seen how the girls react to him while he's around them. They're practically drooling like idiots and reaching out to touch him. But he always looks so bored and indifferent when he's around them, even with the prettier girls. No, he couldn't have chosen the first option. He's just not that type of person.

Ugh, why do I care so much?

But then again, if he had chosen the second option, that wouldn't be much better. It would mean that I would have to stay. It would mean more acting. Maybe even a TV show just to prove to everyone that everything was because of love. Love. It's what Snow wants, yet it's the opposite of exactly how I feel at the moment.

"I hate to rush things, but I have a meeting in a few hours," says President Snow, tapping his watch.

"Oh, right. Sorry," I mumble, still trying to sort out my thoughts desperately. If I pick the path of Finnick Odair, I'll be famous for sure. I'll be desired, I'll be loved by many, I'll be the new star. It's exactly what I want to avoid. Because by choosing that future, I'll have turned some degrading Capitol service. Just someone who would spend a night with anyone for money.

If I decide to be Snow's little actress, and spend the rest of the year putting on some show with Cato, then I wouldn't be able to go home as often. My life would practically be here, in the Capitol. I don't want that. I just want to go home to see Prim and Gale and mother. Anyways, would I really be able to do it? Would I be able to stay here with _him, _the person I despise the most? It would be tough, but it's obviously better than submitting myself to the male population of the Capitol.

"Yes." I finally say. "I've made up my mind."

"Wonderful." Snow says, almost bored. But his eyes spark with interest. "And?"

"And," I say keeping my voice even, "I've decided to go with option two. To stay here for the rest of the year with Cato."

.

**AN: **And there you have it; Katniss' final decision. Whew, this was a long chapter. Was it worth the wait? I'll try to update this weekend again (if I don't get bombed with work, meh). Don't forget to review! Please?


	15. Tip of the Iceberg

**Cato**

"Think about it."

The last words President Snow had said to me before I stormed out of his office, not even bothering to say goodbye. The only emotion raging through my head was hatred. Of course. Was I that stupid to think he would just let us go home? Apparently out interview hadn't been good nor convincing enough, though I swear I had put my best acting skills to use.

Part of me had wanted to full on punch him, but I know that he would only have me killed or turned into an Avox. Really, how could he just spring this choice on me? It isn't right, to just suddenly make someone make up their mind about something so serious.

Which is why I hadn't.

"Damn it Cato," Enobaria groans, "You're in for it now."

"What? I didn't do anything that extreme," I say.

"You _yelled at the president!"_ Enobaria exclaims.

"I just lost my temper for a moment," I say. It's true. I was angry, so maybe I did lose it just for a second. Enobaria's just overreacting, as usual.

"Listen," she growls as she leans in closer. "You don't just refuse his offers. You take them and swallow them like a pill, and go through with it. You understand?"

Reluctantly, "Yes."

"I'm not playing here," she warns, "And neither is he. When he wants something, you better give it to him. And if he wants you make up your mind about a simple decision, you'd better do it. You can't just leave him hanging. He'll get back at you."

* * *

I remain in the luxury of the Capitol over the next few days. The Peacekeepers unnaturally stare at me wherever I go. That's when I know they've all been told to keep an eye on me.

It isn't so bad here, though I'd much rather be back in Two. When I ask Enobaria why I'm still here, she simply replies that they "Don't know what to do with me yet." It's all Snow's fault. If he hadn't given me the choices, I wouldn't be here.

Staying in the little apartment all day drives me to the edge of mentality. I have to get out. So I wander around the training room with no purpose but to look busy as I toss a few spears around. It's too quiet without the usual chatter of the tributes here. Sometimes I even remind myself that they're dead and never coming back. And then I remind myself it's all because of me. Do I feel guilty? No. Disturbed a little, but never guilty.

I pick up another spear and throw it again. The thud of the weapon hitting the target resounds through the empty room. Too empty.

The strange thing is—I haven't spoken to Katniss ever since the day of the interview. I see her every now and then, but we aren't supposed to speak to each other until everything is sorted out. Every time I see her, she's either in the separate training room practicing her archery, or in the hallway walking back to her apartment.

I can't help but notice she's different somehow. It could be the fact that she looks physically better. She's gained back the lost weight from the Games and she doesn't shoot death glares at me anymore. I guess that's an improvement, but she still seems distraught over something. I almost want to talk to her again, but I know that she'll refuse. Even though she has forgiven me, it's obvious that she still doesn't trust me.

I guess can live with that.

* * *

**Katniss**

The dining hall is so empty without everyone here. I almost miss everyone. Almost, but when I realize that I'm only here because they're not... Well, I'm thankful. It must be a thing that all Victors go through. I hate myself for it though, for acting like all their deaths were insignificant because they only helped me to reach my victory. I don't want to be that type of selfish person.

Everything now has become a simple routine. Wake up. Go to the training center. Practice my archery. Eat lunch. Wait for news.

But no news comes.

I can't help but feel that someone is watching me. It isn't until the third day I'm here that I realize not only are the Peacekeepers watching me, Cato is too. No, not watching, just glancing at me occasionally. But nothing explains the fluttering feeling I get when he does look at me. Whatever is going on, it can't be good. His intentions are anything but selfless. So whenever his cool stare meets mine, even if for a split second, I have to force myself to look away. Haymitch is right; I shouldn't associate with Careers, especially when they've plotted to kill me.

* * *

It's the fourth day when I find an unexpected visit. A man named Plutarch Heavensbee. He was in my apartment and I nearly jumped when I saw him, casually seated on a sofa and sipping a cup of coffee as if this were all completely normal.

"When are we starting?" is my first demand, but he only sighs and extends his hand to shake mine.

"Very nice to meet you too, Miss. Everdeen."

"Katniss," I inform. "What are you doing here? I thought we were supposed to film in the studio, not my apartment."

"Relax, your mentor let me in," the fakeness of the Capitol obvious in his smile.

But then, he loses the smile and the cheery tone drops as he says "Katniss, I'm sorry but this is the only way I can talk to you without the cameras. Understand?"

"Cameras?" I say. "You mean security cameras in the hallways?"

He nods. "Yes. But believe me, there are a lot more out there than you think. Private tribute compartments are the only places without the cameras."

"So I'm guessing is that what you need to tell me is.."

"Confidential." Plutarch finishes.

I decide to let him continue.

"As you may be aware of," he says, "We will begin filming tomorrow."

"No, I wasn't aware of that." I say accusingly, "Nobody has given me any information on anything recently."

It's a horrible feeling, to be abandoned by people. They just leave you and don't tell you things so you have no idea what's going on.

"Well," says Plutarch seemingly taken aback, "If you don't know, then Cato probably doesn't know either."

"Know what?" I inquire.

Plutarch takes a deep, dramatic breath before speaking, "Seneca Crane has... Well, he's dead." Plutarch ignores my gasp, "And Snow had appointed me as the new Head Gamemaker. But I didn't want that job, no. It was my dream job, but I declined it so that I could lead the filming project between you and Cato."

"And why would you do that?" I say. I can't help the tone of suspicion in my voice. After all that's happened, I wouldn't think anyone would want to even be near me.

"Because I'm not who you may believe I am."

Then he raises the sleeve of his jacket. A tattoo is revealed. It's an exact replica of my mockingjay that I wear on a pin. Every detailed has been accurately sketched, and in small words under the bird, it reads _catching fire_.

"You do understand what this is," Plutarch says hesitantly, "Correct?"

"A Tattoo?"

He sighs. "It's the symbol of rebellion. Of course. Snow didn't tell you, why would he? Anyways, it means I'm on your side."

"What side?" I'm still staring at the symbol. The mockingjay almost seems to glow on his skin.

"Your side of the rebellion," he answers. "I don't think you realize how powerful the notion of the berries was! Genious!" Plutarch chuckles, clearly amused. "Quite a twist in the plot you added in there. As a Gamemaker, these things always interest me. Anyways, you've set off a whole line of uprisings. It started in District Eleven. Now, Districts Five, Eight, And Ten are also protesting and fighting against the government. Everything is in chaos."

I stare at him blankly. This all has happened within the past few days? All because of...me? The uprisings, the rebellion, it's all going to come true. I sit numb with surprise, as Plutarch watches me carefully.

_Everything is in chaos._

People are rebelling because of something I did selfishly, to save my life. Well, my life and Cato's. How can something so monumental come from such a simple action? _Berries, _for goodness sake! And Plutarch says that the Districts are actually rebelling!

"You can't just…" I struggle to figure out how to respond. How _do_ I respond? "You can't just spring something like this on me! I just got back from the Games and then Snow wanted me to film and—"

"I understand." Plutarch says calmly. "You're just a little shocked. It's perfectly fine. Anyways, what I came to tell you, Katniss, is that you can't stay here anymore. It isn't safe."

"What do you mean?" I feel like such a little girl, embarrassingly lost in the whole plan and undeniably naive.

"We need to get you out of the Capitol as soon as possible," he answers. "Snow wants you to film the program with Cato. He believes that I'm going to help him, but I'm not. In fact, I'm going to try to help you escape. There's no point in trying to quell the districts with some silly TV show. They're past that, and no amount of romance will stop the fact that they're now against the Capitol. Soon, there will be attacks. We need you out of here, Katniss. We need our mockingjay to be safe, meaning we need to get you to District Thirteen."

I almost hang my mouth open in shock. Thirteen? As in the District that was obliterated to bits during the war?

"What are you talking about?" is my first question. Then, "There's a District Thirteen? It survived? But no one is there!"

Plutarch holds up a hand and says "I know, I know. Just hear me out."

I purse my lips together and nod. My head is still brimming with questions, but Plutarch manages to give a long and detailed explanation of District Thirteen. Afterwards, I finally realize how much trouble I'm in. We're on the brink of a full out war and it's mainly because of me. Then there's the whole idea of Thirteen. They survived the bombings after all. The citizens are alive and have been growing in strength and numbers ever since then. They want me to live there. They also want me to be their leader in the rebellion. It's all too much, and for a moment I only want to close my eyes and organize my thoughts. But Plutarch is sitting in front of me, intently waiting for me to answer.

"So," I say slowly, "You only want me to go to Thirteen? No victory tour, no acting, no more staying in the Capitol. Just go to Thirteen. Is that all?"

"Yes," Plutarch agrees. "Basically, that's all."

"Basically?"

"Well, we're also planning on shooting propos. You know, sort of like TV commercials informing the Districts on any progress, and persuading the Districts that haven't rebelled to join us."

"And how does that relate to me?"

"You'll be in the propos, of course!" says Plutarch, "You're our star, our Mockingjay. Katniss, you basically ignited the rebellion. People will listen to _you_, not me or anyone else."

I didn't know I had that sort of power. It can't be possible. Here I was, thinking that I could just go home, and now here's Plutarch Heavensbee telling me that he wants me to go to District Thirteen and lead some rebellion. Could things get crazier?

But somehow, I find it interesting. Maybe it could work. Maybe I could go there, just for a short period of time and rally up supporters. That's all I would have to do, anyway. It's not like I have to fight against the Capitol. Just film some propos, and that's it.

"What about my family?" I say, "Are my mother and sister both in Thirteen?"

"No," says Plutarch, "But we can easily have them move there, if that's what you would like."

"Yes," I say immediately. Then, as a random afterthought, "And Cato? Is he coming too?"

Plutarch sighs, and says "No, Cato will not be joining us."

"Why?"

"Because he isn't what the people want. He's too…" Plutarch says uneasily, "Capitolized."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I say.

"He's from District Two. It's the Capitol's favorite District. Everyone there is supportive of the Games, and it's the District that's least likely to rebel. Think about it, Katniss. What do you think the rebels' first reaction would be if he arrived in Thirteen with us?"

"Probably dislike," I admit. "But we can't just leave him here! He is just as guilty as I am of defying the Games."

"Sure we can," Plutarch easily shrugs, "He'll just join forces with the Capitol. It's not really that surprising. I mean, he was only some tribute who lied to you during the Games. It's not like he's related to you. Personally, I think he's the most likely person to side with Snow. The President will forgive him if he says that he is loyal to the Capitol, which I'm sure he plans on admitting."

"No, he isn't," I say shaking my head. I don't know why I'm defending Cato, when I shouldn't even bother to bring him up. But it would just feel wrong to leave without him and say he had no part in the rebellion. Because, like me, he had decided to take the berries. He didn't exactly come up with the idea, but he took part in it.

"Cato isn't like that. I think if you tell him about this, then he would side with us," I argue. "Please, why don't you just tell him?"

"Give me an answer first, Katniss," says Plutarch, his voice now stern. "Are you coming, or not?"

"And if I do, can Cato come too?" I say.

"Maybe," His lips tighten into a thin line, and I can tell that he's debating my sanity at the moment.

"Alright," I say a bit hesitantly, "Then yes, I'll go."

Plutarch beams, and says "Excellent! I'm sure we can arrange something with Cato, then."

"Wait," I say, "When is this all going to happen? And won't Snow notice? You can't just take us out of the Capitol. Is it even _possible?_"

"Oh yes," Plutarch says bobbing his head, "I've got it all planned out. It'll take place next week. I'll tell you the details later, but for now, just prepare yourself for a week of filming." He checks his watch, which also has a mockingjay symbol on it. "I have to go now," he says tapping it, "Meeting at four. But I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes, see you tomorrow." I say, watching as he hurries out the door.

As soon as it shuts, I collapse onto the couch and bury my head in my hands. I want to know what is happening, when it started, who is directing everything, and why no one has told me anything about it. The whole time I was in the Capitol, just waiting for my stay to end, Haymitch had told me nothing. Nothing!

I wonder if Plutarch has told Cato anything at all, or if Enobaria has. The thought of him knowing more than I do is upsetting, but maybe I can ask him tomorrow when I see him.

Tomorrow, the first day of filming. But maybe it will also be the first day of the last bit of torture I have to go through. If what Plutarch says is true, and he can get me and my family to safety in Thirteen, I should be thankful. I couldn't ask for anything better.

* * *

_(The next day)_

"Would you stop doing that?" Cato says irritably as I snap the elastic at the end of my braid again.

I take a deep breath before replying, "Don't act like you aren't nervous either. It must be _really _degrading, going out in public and having to pretend to be in love with a girl from Twelve, huh?"

I don't know why I'm still intent on making these sorts of comments, but I know I've gotten to him when he tightly purses his lips and stares ahead, unblinking. A few moments of silence pass between us. I start to wonder why he isn't saying anything back, but then I remember how quiet he's been recently. It's strange to see him like this, and not spitting curse words at me all the time. His composed exterior, contained anger, barely there smirk…he's definitely changed.

Plutarch asks us if we're ready, and we nod. Then he advises us to hold hands. I glance at Cato, expecting him to look disgusted by the idea, but he only shrugs nonchalantly and grips my hand in his.

The moment our hands meet, the unexplainable fiery sensation runs through my arm, from my shoulder to my fingertips. I inwardly curse my reaction just from touching his hand. It isn't like the usual feeling though. This time, it isn't caused by me knowing he'll hurt me. After his apology, there's a silent agreement between us that we're…neutral.

So why won't the feeling go away? If I don't hate him anymore for what he's done, why do I still feel like _something _is about to happen every time he touches me?

Plutarch beckons us out of the building, and I take another deep breath, mentally preparing myself to see people. No, _strangers_.

Cato grips my hand tighter as we finally step out into what seems like the real world after a week of being in the Tribute Building. Blinding sunlight and blue skies greet us. It's something I haven't seen in a while. It's so different from home. The giant skyscrapers are unfamiliar, the glare of the sunlight reflects off of almost every shiny surface, everything is steel and concrete, and there are barely any trees or signs of nature. Only pure white roses line the sidewalks.

Everyone's head snaps towards us as soon as they realize who we are, and before I know it, a wave of screaming young women flock over to us, all reaching out toward Cato.

This shouldn't bother me. I should have expected it, all these girls engulfing Cato and staring at him lustfully. They throw flirtatious smiles at him and try not to fall in their magenta six inch heels as they push each other around, vying for his attention and trying to get him to sign their posters, pictures, and even body parts. But for some reason, I still want them to go away and leave him alone.

I move to stand next to Plutarch behind the cameras, feeling very unimportant. The cameramen are getting every bit of this, what they call "fangirling". It's absolutely ridiculous. But then I realize that they just want to get Cato's reaction.

What is his reaction? All I see is him slowly backing away from the colorful freaks. It's a good sign. He isn't stupid enough to actually enjoy the popularity and the favor he's earning from the Capitol girls. He almost seems to be pushing them away from him, answering their questions and signing autographs at the same time. Then he turns around and locks eyes with me, desperately mouthing the word _help._

I almost burst out laughing at this. Well, he deserves this attention. All that hard training really paid off, giving him a body worthy of twenty girls' attention. Maybe I should go in and save him now.

I clear my throat and walk towards him, grabbing him by the crook of his elbow and forcing a pleasant smile towards the girls.

"Hello, Katniss," Cato murmurs, pulling my body flush against his. The girls pause and throw glares at me. Honestly, if it weren't for the filming, I would trade places with them. It's strange enough being this close to Cato. Not that I hate it, either…

I'm hoping that my face isn't turning red at the moment. "Hey," I manage to say. Shoot, what's my next line? In the moment of discomfort, I've forgotten it.

"How about we go the Bellepriore Fountain?" he says, ignoring the miserable stares and indiscreet whispers from the sea of revolting pink.

"Sounds wonderful," I say plastering a dreamy smile on my face.

The crowd unwillingly disperses, some numbers are slipped into Cato's pocket, and a few girls thank him, taking a few pictures as they leave. I can still feel their lingering glances, boring holes into my back. I know they aren't really leaving. They're too curious and want to watch us.

"What happened to having memorized your lines?" Cato says quietly, smirking as he leads me towards the fountain.

"I don't know, maybe I forgot them because there were twenty Cato-hungry girls wanting to kill me at the moment," I say rolling my eyes.

"Hey, it isn't their fault they want me." He says teasingly. "Maybe if you weren't always in such a bad mood, you'd see what you're missing out on here." He flexes his arm and I bat it away.

"Really now, the cameras aren't going to like your attitude," he reminds me. I glance behind me and see the cameramen following us, and I inwardly groan. This is ridiculous. The romance is ridiculous. Plutarch is right, these cheesy lines and plot will do nothing to stop the Districts. For now, it's only keeping us alive.

"We'll say our lines once we get to the fountain." I decide, "But till then, stop with the act."

* * *

It's beautiful, yet fake, hideous, and disturbing all at the same time.

Clear, sparkling water cascades over a huge slab of marble, falling into a bubbling fountain that smells almost sweet. The entire fountain is huge, and many people sit around it, tossing in coins or simply dangling their legs into the cool blue.

But then, there are the pictures. Etched into the marble are drawings of Panem's history. The Dark Days, the war, the past Hunger Games. Images of dying tributes fill up most of the space. But there are also scenes of fighting and rebellion, which are all horrifically represented. I don't understand why this is so popular.

"It's good seeing you again, you know," Cato breaks the silence. I nod, looking away from the marble.

"Yeah, you too." I say, almost monotonously.

"It was hard being away from you. I just kept feeling so… alone. I mean, after our time in the Games, it was weird to be suddenly wrenched away from you. I missed you, a lot, you know." Something about the way Cato delivers his lines is too convincing. I almost want to believe it.

"I missed you too." I say, trying to brighten my expression, "But now that we're together again, nothing can ever come back between us."

* * *

**Cato**

The plan is simple; elaborate on the love factor, like Lover Boy used to. So why is it hard? Why do I find myself wanting to pull away from her instead? Acting comes to me naturally. I'm the one who pulled it off during the Games anyway. But it's hard to look Katniss in the eye and pretend that I love her. The last time that I had pretended to care for her, it hadn't ended well.

By the time we've finished our conversation, a large crowd has gathered around us. Reporters, children, photographers, men and women all try to get our attention. The fact that I'm so famous still astounds me. I used to be a nobody. Just a kid in the training room, practicing with a sword. But now, I'm all they're talking about. I don't mind it much, but I'm not as content as I thought I would be. Katniss doesn't seem to appreciate the attention. She maintains a straight expression as we push through the crowd and get back to the car.

Once we're inside, Katniss slumps in her seat and sighs. Her next statement completely sums up my thoughts. "What a complete failure."

.

**AN: **For all who have faithfully reviewed and read every chapter, thank you so much. It means a lot to me, since I am beginning to lose reasons and motivation for why I should continue writing. Things have just been getting tough. Well, that was unnecessarily dramatic.*sigh*As Katniss says, "What a complete failure" I feel like right now.

Anyway, I think I might start updating by a certain number of reviews now instead of updating weekly. This way, I'll know whether or not I should spend more time writing this (if people want me to) or time doing other stuff. Not that "other stuff" is better than writing, it's just more productive…meh, I'll stop rambling now.


	16. To Kill a Mockingjay

**Katniss**

Cato and I are waiting in the lobby of the tribute's building when Plutarch comes up to us, with a weary expression on his face.

"Katniss, Cato, we need to talk," he says, and already I feel my stomach drop a little. I've always hated that phrase.

"Yeah?" says Cato, "About what?"

"Well, this whole project we're doing here," says Plutarch, "It isn't really successful so far."

I'm not surprised. With the boring lines and no plot whatsoever, there's a reason no one is interested. They must have expected something thrilling and miraculous to come from our relationship, since after all, we are the next starcrossed-lovers.

"If we don't get the Capitol interested in this, then it'll be a whole waste of time. And then I'll get in trouble for not doing my job properly, while you two may also get punished."

"So what do we do about it?" I say.

"Well, I was thinking that we could go for something new. I mean, something that will please Snow for now until…" Plutarch's voice lowers as he adds, "Until next week."

Cato nods, "And what do you have in mind?"

Plutarch's face stretches into a smile, and I already know that by the Gamemaker smile he wears, it has to be something ridiculously over-the-top. "I was thinking of Fraire shore."

Of course. A _beach. _May as well go to a circus.

"Oh, that artificial beach?" Cato says with distaste.

"Actually," says Plutarch, "It's quite nice. It's almost like District Four. Plus, it's private, and we'll practically be the only ones there."

Personally, I think that it does nothing to help the show. But at least we'll be alone this time, meaning there will be no annoying ditzy girls crowding around Cato.

"Fine," I shrug, "Let's do it."

"Excellent." says Plutarch. He looks pleased at how easily I've agreed to it. "Cato?"

Cato glances at me quickly, and then seems to weigh the option before saying with indifference "Yeah, sure."

Plutarch smiles. "Alright then. This will be fun, trust me." Fun. As if going to a fake beach with a fake attitude and faking love with Cato is fun. "Let's get moving guys!"

* * *

We are slightly jostled around as the boat skips over the waves. The fresh breeze against my face feels good, even though it's chilly out here. The deep blue water and sounds of seagulls above us add to the District Four theme. True, it _is _beautiful, but it's unrealistic. There would never be a paradise like this in the middle of a city.

I sense someone behind me and somehow, I'm fully aware of who it is.

"Nice, isn't it?" says Cato casually. His perfect blonde hair is slightly ruffled from the wind, and he leans dangerously far over the railing trailing his fingers through the water. Showoff. Not that he would have any problems swimming if he fell in, I'm sure swimming was part of the Academy's training course.

I have a sudden urge to push him overboard, which would be hilarious, but I don't. Instead, I bite back a laugh and nod.

I notice that the cameras have followed him over to me, so I rack my brains for the next line.

"I'm glad you're here with me," I say in a girly voice that isn't mine. And of course, that's when we hear an exasperated sigh and the word "Cut!" I've gotten used to it.

"Say it with a _little_ more conviction, dear." Cressida, our director, says with almost a pained expression. "We didn't come all the way out here for nothing."

I grumble out a short protest before lifting my chin and saying "Fine. I'll try."

We start again, and I say "I'm glad you're here with me."

A smirk appears on Cato's face, as he says, "Guess the wind isn't in your favor today, is it?" His eyes flicker downwards for a second, and he looks back at me innocently.

I hear a few people gasp, and I look down and to see that my barely-there skirt has billowed up around me. Horrified, I immediately shove it back down to cover myself up. I hear Cato snickering, and Cressida hurriedly saying something about a wardrobe malfunction. My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I glare at Cato.

"Shut up, and stop laughing!" I snap.

He tries to maintain a straight expression although his eyes are still dancing with laughter. I punch him in the arm, which only ends up hurting my fist instead. Ouch.

He shoves me back as what I'm guessing to be a playful gesture, but instead, I end up tripping on a rope. A few people scream. Maybe I do too. But all I feel is a swooping sensation in my stomach as I fall over the railing, and then my body hitting the cool water with a _splash_.

The air is knocked out of my lungs as I sink deep down in the water.

Oh god, it's cold. No, it's freezing!

My mind momentarily blanks out and I'm numb from shock. I open my eyes halfway and panic rises in my chest, before I remember that I can swim. I need to propel myself up to the surface. There's a tightening in my lungs and know I'm running out of oxygen. I start kicking my legs even though they also have gone numb.

Another figure appears almost out of nowhere, but I can't really see since my eyes are still half-closed. The saltwater stings.

He grabs my wrist and drags me upwards. My first instinct is to push him away, but he turns to face me and I realize that it's Cato. What is he doing?! His grip tightens as I squirm around.

We finally reach the surface, and I take big gulps of air, spluttering out water. I instantly jerk my arm away from his hand.

"You alright?" says Cato, steadying me, both hands placed around me.

I don't reply, and cough some more again. The saltwater burns my throat and makes my nose tingle. Ugh! If I hadn't been so surprised, I wouldn't have accidently swallowed so much of it.

"Katniss, are you okay?" he asks again. He actually looks concerned. He keeps his arm around mine, supporting me.

"What—what were you doing?" I accuse, "And yes I'm alright." I shiver a little. The air is much colder than the water was.

"I was saving your life, Fire Girl," Cato says rolling his eyes, "Thank me later."

"I can swim, you idiot." I say frowning. Does he always underestimate me? "Anyways, _you're_ the one who pushed me off in the first place."

Cato looks at me blankly before saying "You can swim?"

"Well yeah," I say, "I was actually in the middle of getting back up when you got here. "

Sarcastically, "Sorry I decided to help you, then."

I suppose I am being sort of rude to him, when his intentions were clear—he was trying to save my life. Again. How many times is that now?

"That's not what I meant," I mutter, "I mean, thanks for trying, anyway."

"Cato, Katniss! Come on!" Plutarch yells from the boat, which is a short distance away.

Cato shrugs, and gestures for me to go ahead with a smirk, "Peasants first."

I scowl at him before plunging back into the water. It brings me back to the hot summer days when my father would take me to the lake, and teach me to swim. My body is no longer numb and I can actually move now. Stroke with one arm, then the other, legs straight out behind me, propelling myself forward. Breathe. It's simple repetition.

Cato and I both end up at the boat at the same time, and climb back aboard. Plutarch is stumbling out apologies but I wave them away. If it was anyone's fault, it was Cato's. He's the one who pushed me.

"Are you alright?" Cressida says worriedly.

"Are you cold?" Plutarch asks. "I knew it wasn't a good idea to come out here by ourselves. I'm not even very experienced with this boat. And Katniss, you could have drowned." He shakes his head, "It's too dangerous."

"Really, I'm alright," I insist.

"Cato, you shouldn't have pushed her." Cressida frowns. She pats my shoulder, "Go sit down, dear."

"She shouldn't have tripped on the rope," Cato says shrugging.

"Well, thanks." I mutter, "Save my life, and then blame everything on me, won't you?"

"I'm just kidding," he grins, "Sorry for pushing you off. Will you forgive me?"

I smile sweetly, "Yes, I forgive you." Cressida gives me a thumbs-up. I finally feel relieved that we got at least something good from this trip.

My soaking wet clothes weigh me down uncomfortably and Messalla hands me a towel. I gratefully take it and wrap it around myself. Cato only peels off his shirt, which I pointedly look away at.

"It's alright," he says arrogantly, yet jokingly, "Feel free to stare."

"Like I would want to," I scoff, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see the toned body that would even make Finnick Odair jealous. I tell myself to turn away.

"So you got this on camera, then, Cress?" says Plutarch.

"Definitely," she smiles. "Actually, I got it all on camera, so we can pretty much prove that Cato _did _save her."

"Well, he didn't really save me," I can't help but say. I don't like the feeling of being some helpless little girl, having to depend on Cato for everything.

"Yes, we know. Which is why it's called 'acting', Katniss," says Cressida, a hint of frustration in her voice. It's a wonder that she doesn't start yelling at me. "You don't have to worry about any of this being real. No matter how much you have to pretend to love him, you can really hate him as much as you want, alright?"

In the silence that follows, Cressida must have realized that what she said wasn't appropriate, and she turns slightly red as she says "Why don't we head back to shore now?"

"Excellent idea," Plutarch agrees, and Messalla nods, "Let's go."

They and the cameramen walk up to the front of the boat, happily chatting about the weather and leaving Cato and I alone.

"You know…you know what she said isn't true, right?" I say.

"What, that we don't need to love each other in real life?" Cato says mindlessly as he stares out into the sea. He seems to be lost in thought, and not really paying attention to me.

"No, not that. I mean what she said about—"

"Yeah, I know, Katniss." Cato interrupts. He turns back towards me, studying me with almost a weary expression. "We've been through this too many times. We're good with each other, right?"

For a moment, all I can see is the anxious look in his eyes, for me to confirm that we're past what's past. That what Cressida said wasn't true, because I'll never really hate him, no matter what he's done to me.

"Right." I say, "Sorry, I just thought I needed to make it clearer."

"No, it's fine." says Cato, "But it's always been pretty clear to me. Maybe you were the one who needed to hear it again." And he walks away, leaving me confused with his words. It's like he's suddenly changed on me again. One moment he's joking around and the next, he's talking about our relationship. No, not a relationship. Our association with each other. Our daily interactions with each other and what they mean. But they don't mean anything, because the only times we do see each other are when we film, and that's all fake.

Oh god, my head hurts now. The biting wind now seems colder and I only want to be back in my apartment, wrapped in cozy blankets and lost in dreams about home. Not here, with Cato, on a random boat and trying to convince the world not to rebel.

* * *

When we reach shore, I almost collapse onto the sand. It's white and powder-soft, and warm from hours of sunlight. It actually isn't so bad here. There are many palm trees scattered around, and a cliff where the stretch of sand ends.

I've tried to talk to Cato a few times, to maybe be friendly, but it hasn't worked. He seems to be in the mood that everyone knows him for. The serious-killer mood. Even Plutarch, Cressida, Messalla, and the cameramen are quiet.

I'm about to ask Plutarch a question, but Cato speaks up first.

"What's that?" he says. He points out towards a cluster of palm trees, and there seems to be something behind it. No, someone. Whoever he is, he's wearing all black, and carrying an object in his hand.

"I don't…" I squint to get a glimpse through the tree trunks, but he's disappeared. Now, my heart has suddenly begun to race faster. Almost as if I were in the arena once again, my instincts kicking back in. The unknown has always scared me.

The figure steps out from the trees. And in the moment it takes for me to realize that the object he's holding is a gun, he raises it, and aims it, right at me.

Time seems to have frozen, because in that split second, there's a _bang. _Someone yells. Searing pain shoots up my left arm as the bullet sinks into it. And all I do is stare at it in shock as a heavy flow of blood begins to pour out of it. My head pounds and I'm suddenly lifted off the ground by someone. A sea of faces and haze of black camera lenses fill my vision. Panicked shouts ring through the air. My arm is throbbing and I feel warm blood traveling down to my hand. Then my head is tilted back to meet blue. Blue sky. No, blue eyes. Cato? My gaze shifts to the side, and then I see the sky instead. It's the exact same color.

And then the light blue sky melts into black as the darkness conquers my vision. I lose grasp of the sights and sounds around me. I only feel someone clutching my hand tightly, almost desperately, and somehow I know that it's him.

* * *

**Cato**

It's late in the afternoon. Plutarch has agreed to come and talk to me about what's going on, since I haven't been allowed to see Katniss myself. At least I have someone to inform me on what's happening. It's an improvement from the useless pacing I've accomplished in doing while stuck in my apartment.

"So what happened?" I finally ask Plutarch.

He sighs and sinks into a deep, velvet chair, cupping a mug of coffee. "The ARO has finally gained some ground."

"ARO? What's that?" I say.

Plutarch takes a sip of his coffee, and rubs his chin thoughtfully. "It's an acronym for the Anti Rebellion Organization. I suppose the simplest way to explain it is that they're a group against the idea of the districts rebelling. That means they're against Katniss, since she started it all. They just want the Districts to comply with the Capitol."

"I never knew there was such a group." I mutter, clenching my fists and wanting to punch Enobaria's teeth out for never telling me anything.

"Oh, not many people do know about them," says Plutarch. "Katniss didn't know either."

"And she should have," I say, "Because if she did, maybe we wouldn't have agreed to go to Fraire shore." I look pointedly at him. If he knew all along…

"How were we supposed to know that they would be waiting for us there?" says Plutarch, defensively. "Like I said, they don't let others know what they're up to. I didn't even know about their existence until a week ago, and I didn't think they would be that strong. In fact, this is the first thing they've really done so far."

"But that's not what bothers me." Plutarch continues. "What's most disturbing is that they chose to go after Katniss." He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. "Little do they know, they've just fanned the flames of the already growing fire."

"Meaning..?"

"They thought killing the spark would stop things. They don't understand that our spark, our Mockingjay, Katniss, has already done her job. Or at least the main part of it. But killing her will only farther instigate the districts."

"And what about us? What do we do about it?" I say.

"Like I said, we go to Thirteen. It's safer there, and they'll accept Kat- you guys."

"When do we leave?" I press on.

"I'm trying to figure something out," says Plutarch tiredly, "But I'm planning on getting you guys out next week."

"Why not sooner?" I say.

"Because it isn't that easy to smuggle the most famous lovebirds of Panem out of the Capitol. If we get caught, we get killed, alright?"

"Yeah…I know." I nod, "It's just that, now that I know how dangerous it is, I don't want Katniss to stay here anymore. She needs to get out as soon as possible. She could get killed again."

Plutarch stares at me curiously, before saying "You actually care about her, don't you?"

"No," I say indifferently, "I never said that." I silently curse in my head, and wonder if he's right. I _really _need to stop talking sometimes.

But is he right? Do I actually care whether she gets hurt or not? If so, it's probably because of all the time we spent as allies in the arena. If it weren't for the Games, I would have that protective instinct.

"You two are too confusing," Plutarch mumbles. Then he sighs, and stands up. "I have to go," he says, "The more time I spend on planning our escape out, the sooner it can be done."

"Okay," I agree, and stand up too. Then, I realize what I have to do next. I just need to.

"Hey, do you happen to have—" I begin, but Plutarch reaches into his pocket and hands me the small silver object. I stare at him, bewildered. How did he know that I would ask him?

"I see these sort of things coming." He says simply, "Plus, it's only fair if you go see her. If she's awake, tell her what I told you, alright?" Then he smiles, though it's more of a grimace, and turns around. He leaves my room, not completely shutting my door behind him.

"Thanks." I say, even though he's gone. I turn the key over in my hand. It isn't like a regular key, it's a simple rectangular chip with the number _212_ imprinted on it. I find myself wondering if she'll be surprised to see me, or if it'll just be too weird at this hour of the night.

I brush the thoughts away and decide to go. Standing here thinking about her won't change anything.

After another moment of hesitation, I walk down to the elevator, and push the H button. I anxiously twist the key around in my hands until the elevator door opens, and I step out onto the hospital floor. No one is here, of course. Only the nurses and Peacekeepers stay on the hospital floor around this time.

I pass the room doors one by one. 209. 210. 211.

212.

I slide the chip into the slot, and the door handle flashes green. Silently, I open the door and step in. The room is dark, but a small glowing light seems to float in the middle of the room.

My stomach flips when I see her form on the hospital bed. She's almost in a sitting position, propped up against a bunch of pillows. Her arm is wrapped and hooked up to some sort of machine, and her eyes are peacefully closed. I feel like I'm intruding on her privacy. Maybe I should go, since she's sleeping.

I turn around and quietly step back towards the door, twisting the handle, when a small voice whispers, "Cato? Is that…is that you?"

I stop, and nod. But of course, she can't see me. "Yeah." I say, "I was actually just leaving."

"No, wait," she says. I turn around and slip the key back in my pocket. "What are you doing here? And don't lie to me."

Her voice is slightly hoarse. I wonder if the doctors gave her any sort of medication with those weird side effects. Maybe that Ibroxine stuff. I've heard it has a lot of morphling in it.

I sigh, "Honestly? I came to see how you were doing. But of course the stupid Peacekeepers here wouldn't let me in earlier, so I had to come in now. Sorry."

"No, it's fine," she murmurs, and says "I wasn't even expecting you to come visit."

I want to say _Well, why wouldn't I?_ But then I remember what had happened after the filming today. Damn it, three apologies and she still forgets that I'm sorry. She should be over that by now. Or maybe it's something else bothering her.

"I had to come here." I say. I step towards her bed, and pull up a chair next to her. "I wasn't going to just take you to the hospital and not check up on you later."

In the dim lighting, I can see her eyes staring at me watchfully, curiously.

"Can I ask you something?" she says.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you jump in the water to save me today?"

I open my mouth to speak, but then shut it, because I'll probably end up saying something stupid again. Why did I do it? "I didn't want you to drown. I didn't think you could swim." I say.

"Yes, but why?" she asks again.

"Because…" I stammer, "Because I didn't want to lose you. Not like how I almost did in the Games, and not like how I did after the Games, when you ignored me for so long. I didn't want to lose you right after I had gotten you back."

Katniss' voice softens as she says "That sounds like stuff Cressida always rants about."

"What?"

"It sounds like what Cressida always wants you to say," says Katniss. "Like what you say to me every day. I always thought you were a really good actor, but…" she stares off, towards the light in the room.

I hold my breath, and watch as her gaze shifts from the light suspended in the air back to me.

And she finally says, "But it sounds real, now, doesn't it?"

I reach out and take her hand, like I have done so many times, except she might be right. This time, it does feel real. The warmth of her skin and the way her fingers automatically enfolds into my hand.

The small voice in my head asks _What the fuck are you doing? _But my conscience is quickly overridden. The longer I look at her, the harder it is to turn away.

I can't do this. I need to say something, anything, to stay sane and remember who I'm talking to. This new thing stirring in my chest every time I'm with her isn't normal.

* * *

**Katniss**

He moves to sit on the edge of my bed. I can feel his body heat, and the gentlest touch of his arm on mine, making my skin prickle. And then I remember his hand is still holding mine. I'm glad that it's dark, because my face has probably turned various shades of red by now. I suddenly feel insecure, like I can't hide from his searching eyes. So I look right back into them. The icy gaze that I used to flinch at now seems warm. It still holds the same intensity, but intensity for a different reason.

We shouldn't be this close, we shouldn't even be touching. Not because it gives me these trembling echoes in me or because it makes my skin feel like it's burning, but because it's just wrong. He shouldn't…he's just an ally…he betrayed me. We've reached that mutual dislike and compliance with each other. That's all.

He stares intently back at me, and I can see the low light reflect off of his blue eyes. "Maybe."

_Maybe?_

That's all he can say?

A thousand words are threatening to break loose. Why would he say _maybe_? I need a confirmation. Either that, or something to deny the fact, no, the _thought_, that this is becoming too real. He was supposed to tell me I was wrong! He was supposed to say that this was all still an act! Not _maybe. _I can't afford to have that word in my life.

I'm about to protest when suddenly he lowers, drawing in close. His lips just barely meet mine as he mumbles, "Don't complicate things, Fire Girl," against my mouth.

I can't breathe. It is physically impossible, with him so close and so…so incredibly attractive right now…

He closes the millimeters between us and I my eyes widen when I taste a mixture of sharp, cold mint. I nearly gasp in surprise. It takes me only a millisecond to realize that he's kissing me, though just barely. It's just his lips brushing against mine, yet somehow, every part of me is aware of it. The wintry chill rushes through my body and sends a tingling feeling throughout my spine. My conscience screams that I shouldn't be doing this but I ignore it, instead letting elation overwhelm me when his lips put slightly more pressure on mine.

It ends too soon. A part of me wants to beg _No! Don't go! _He quickly draws away from me, looking equally surprised and confused, and running a hand agitatedly through his hair before saying, "Katniss, I didn't—fuck, that was—"

"A mistake, I know," I say softly. My bottom lip still trembles a little from the sudden withdrawal. Dammit, this..whatever it is…it's too much for both of us, apparently. I can't say that I didn't want it to end, though.

He freezes, and he stares at me, slightly alarmed, "That wasn't what I was going to say."

I know he wasn't going to dismiss what just happened, but he'll do it eventually. He would never admit to kissing me. Anyway, I can't let silly desires block logic and the obviously clear path, no matter how much I could have wanted something more.

"You told me not to complicate things, so I'm not. You didn't mean to do what you did. That's all there is to it. Now please, go, I need rest," I say, shaking my head, "I'll see you tomorrow when you aren't so tired and distracted. Just please go." My voice quakes at the last word, but I manage to remain steady afterwards. If he wants a black-and-white picture of us, then he'll get it. There are no shades of grey here. There is either friendship or indifference. Allies or enemies. Kiss or no kiss.

He nods slowly, "I know. But what I said before is true. I don't want to lose you again."

The way he says it sounds more personal than it should, and my stomach uncomfortably twists into knots when I realize what this must mean.

"So do I forget about your answer, "maybe", to my question earlier? Or is it also true that this act is possibly not just an act?"

He looks quizzically at me for a moment, brow raised, but then sighs, "I think it would be best for us to both forget."


	17. Venemous

**Katniss**

"How's the arm, sweetheart?"

I lift my eyelids slowly, and then blink, putting the voice together with the person. Haymitch.

"It's better, thanks." I mumble, and sit up a little more, though my head hurts. My arm is bandaged, and only feels slightly sore at the moment.

Haymitch offers me some water, which I decline. I notice that he isn't carrying a flask of alcohol with him like he usually does. But he still has that same, haggard look on his face. The stress has created even more lines on his forehead. Overall, he just looks tired.

"Where have you been?" I say, "I haven't seen you since…"

"Yeah, I know." He says, "I had some issues to resolve with a few people."

"Like?"

"Like President Snow," he says grimly. "He wanted to talk to me about the, uh, current situation."

"You mean the rebellion? Or do you mean this dumb show I've been stuck on for the past week?"

"Both," says Haymitch. "He isn't admitting about the rebellion yet. But he's certainly hinting heavily about it. And then there's the issue with the romance."

"It isn't going to last," I say shortly, "And Plutarch still hasn't figured anything out. Everything's falling apart." Briefly, the memory of last night appears in my head, but I quickly dismiss it.

"Yes, we know. Which is why Plutarch and I came up with something, just last night," says Haymitch. "But it's going to take a lot of time."

"What is it?" I say. Finally, something is happening. Maybe this will really be my ticket out of the Capitol. I've tried not to get my hopes up, because I know that there's never a perfect plan. Something always happens. Gets in the way. And then I remember that the purpose of the plan is to get me to Thirteen, not Twelve.

"It's complicated, but we'll explain it to you as soon as you're better." Haymitch promises. "I have to go tell Enobaria first, though. She won't be happy if we do this without her."

"Aren't the District Two mentors against this whole idea?" I say narrowing my eyes. From what I've heard about Enobaria (which is a lot, thanks to Cato's constant insults about her), she isn't the type to protest the Hunger Games.

"Katniss, this is beyond the Games," says Haymitch. "Think big scale. We're talking about the whole Capitol, overthrowing it all. What they've done to the Districts is just too much. And to be honest, even their favorite Districts, like One, Two, and Four, are tired of it all. We all have one common enemy, and it's Snow."

* * *

**Cato**

Brutus takes a long swig of beer, and settles in the chair, sighing.

"So I've heard about this little arrangement you've got with Snow," he says, running a hand through his thick black hair. "Again, remind me why you chose this?"

"Maybe because the thought of sleeping with old women is disturbing…" I say, not bothering to hide the obvious tone in my voice.

Brutus laughs rowdily at this. "Funny. I always thought of you to be the type to do that sort of thing. Get what you want, however you want. It's sort of like how you were as a child. You had quite the interesting story."

"Oh, do tell me about my life," I say sarcastically.

"Well, then I will," he says bemusedly. "You were different. Everyone knew you were independent and strong-willed. Didn't give a fuck about anyone else, just yourself, which was pretty selfish. You were also stubborn. Always trying to prove people wrong, especially the trainers."

"They doubted me. I had to show them that they were wrong," I say.

"Exactly my point," says Brutus. "You were the definition of what a District Two kid should be. Ask anyone, and they would have said Cato Carleton was that crazy kid in the training center, practicing til midnight. That kid who would punch someone in the face if they insulted him. Who's parents didn't—"

"Okay, I know," I interrupt, "So what are you trying to say?" I can't help but let the aggressive tone back into my voice.

"You've changed. Look at you now. Just some lovesick guy who's 'fallen for some District Twelve girl'. Everyone knows it too. You've spent years, hell, your whole life, building up your rep. And now, you've wasted it all. It's all gone." He says, sneering at me. "I can't believe it. I always thought you would be like me, at least a fraction of me, but no. You've changed," He gets up, and gives my shoulder a rough pat that's more of a smack. "For the worst, Cato."

"So that's why Enobaria sent you here?" I say, "To have you talk some _sense_ into me?" I feel my fists ball up and I restrain myself from delivering him a punch.

"Enobaria's too crazy," Brutus says shrugging. "You don't care about what she says. But you better damn well listen to what I've gotta say, because it's for your own good."

"You _do_ know that it's all for the audience, right?" I say. I don't know if I'm reassuring him or reassuring myself. Maybe both. After last night, everything just spiraled downwards.

"What, your little bullshit love act? Oh please. It's what I wanted to believe, but when I saw you sneaking off to see her the other night…" He shakes his head, "I couldn't believe it."

"It's not what you think." I mutter, "It's just, I mean, we're—"

"What?" Brutus says, with an air of false innocence, _mocking_ me. "Friends? You and a girl from _Twelve?" _He walks over to the door, which automatically slides open. He pauses, letting out a harsh laugh. "Fucking pathetic." He chucks the empty bottle into the trash can before walking out. "Don't get too close to her," he calls back, "She isn't worth it." The doors shut once again.

I know what he's trying to say. That for years, I've worked towards becoming a victor— a Capitol quality winner. And he's obviously angry that I've been lowered to the position of boy in love, whether he believes it or not. But I have no other choice. Enobaria's right, in a way. Snow's commands have to be taken like a pill. No matter much I hate the act, nothing can be done until Plutarch gets a plan in place.

_Don't get too close to her._ I've tried and tried not to, but it's impossible, because instead I seem to be pulled closer to her. There are things I still don't get, like why I feel so vulnerable whenever I'm around her. Or why I kissed her last night. It was never supposed to happen. But it did, and now I can't take it back.

Fuck, I can still taste her on my lips. I must be going crazy.

There's only one way to explain this. My stupid impulsive feelings had taken over—feelings that I had promised to myself I would control—but in that moment, I couldn't. She looked so perfect in that moment. I shouldn't have taken things that far, but it wasn't so easy to just resist.

* * *

**Katniss**

My stomach flips when I realize that I have to do more filming with Cato today. But today will be different, because of what happened the other night. No, it'll just be awkward. I almost consider pretending to sick, but I realize that it's a lame excuse. I'm still astounded at how fast the doctors healed my wound. Normally, it would take months to heal something this serious back in Twelve. But no, twenty four hours here and it's all better.

"Hurry, Katniss!" says Effie. "We don't want to keep them waiting!" She sighs, tapping her watch with a manicured nail.

"Coming!" I say, throwing a sweater over my dress, and rushing out the door. Effie frowns at me disapprovingly as we walk to the elevator, saying something about how it doesn't match my dress.

When we finally reach the studio, Cato, Haymitch, Enobaria, and Plutarch are all already there.

"Katniss," says Plutarch brightly, "I'm glad to see that you're better!"

"Thank you," I say, my hand automatically moving to my arm where the bullet wound was. "I was surprised at how fast my recovery was."

I can feel Cato's intense stare coming from the opposite side of the room, daring me to look his way. But I don't, yet.

For a moment, I wonder why I'm trying so hard to pretend that night never happened. We both know it was sudden and random, and even I believed in that moment we had something special, but no matter how much I hope for things to really change I know he's still struggling. Maybe he even regrets what happened. So that's what I do—regret what happened.

"Where are we going today? Outside again?" I say breaking the silence. I realize that I'm just trying to stall and delay the filming.

"No," Haymitch sharply interjects, "We're staying inside. You aren't going back out after what happened the other day."

"So what's going to happen, then?" says Cato.

"Well, I spoke with Enobaria and Plutarch about this, and we've come to an agreement." Haymitch answers, "As in, the plan for our escape."

My eyes quickly dart up to the upper corners of the room, looking for cameras. Haymitch should know that it isn't safe to talk.

"Oh, don't worry," Plutarch says dismissively. "I've made sure all the recording devices were taken out of this room."

"And how do you know they're all out?" says Cato.

"Because I'm the one who put them in." Plutarch shrugs. "It was a while ago. Anyways, Haymitch, please continue explaining."

"So here's what we came up with," says Haymitch, "Doubles. We're going to have two people, one looking almost identical to Katniss and the other like Cato, come into the Capitol. They'll take your places, and we'll sneak you guys back out, but you two will be leaving as them. Do you follow?"

"Um, sort of?" I say. Why did they have to come up with something so complicated? My brain is already starting to hurt.

"You see, we've already selected two people who were willing to come to the Capitol so that you and Cato could go to Thirteen. Of course, they've sworn not to tell anyone, and we trust them. Tomorrow they will arrive, and while they're here, you guys will switch identities with them. It's quite simple actually. I'm sure it'll work."

"But how are you going to have them come here without Snow being suspicious?" says Cato, "Isn't it sort of weird to have two people who happen to look like Katniss and I just walk into the building?"

"Which is why that isn't going to happen," says Plutarch. "In fact, we'll have the perfect reason for the couple to come to the Capitol. We'll have an event so big, everyone will be too distracted to know whether or not the new couple is really Katniss and Cato."

"Well, then what's the event?" I say.

"This is completely stupid," Enobaria mutters.

"A masquerade!" Plutarch says grinning.

There's a brief moment of silence where Cato and I consider this. I have to agree with Enobaria. This is…unnecessary, and stupid.

"Think about it," Plutarch urges, "It's a celebration of you and Cato's romance, a large event that gives us an excuse to have the new pair arrive, a good reason for you guys to be masked, or disguised, and of course, it's fun. It's what everyone loves."

"With all the tension going on, is that really a good idea?" Cato says doubtfully.

I don't know if he means the tension between him and me, or the tension between Snow and the Districts.

"Yes, there is a lot going on at the moment," says Plutarch, "Which is the perfect reason for us to have a dance. People want to take their minds off of the situation. And what better way to do so than go to an event where they can dance, have fun, and see the famous couple—Cato and Katniss? Even Snow has agreed to this. He believes that we're trying to distract the Districts, take their minds off of the rebellion. Trust me, this will work."

The last time Plutarch had told me to trust him, I ended up getting shot in the arm.

"How do you know it's safe?" I question.

"Security has gotten a lot tighter," says Haymitch. "After Snow heard about what happened to you, well, he didn't want his little actress to die. The masquerade will be heavily guarded."

"Snow doesn't want me killed? But he hates me, doesn't he?" I say.

"I don't blame him for it," Enobaria says, "But you see, he still thinks that maybe he can somehow keep people's mind off of the rebellion by continuing the romance thing. He's desperate."

"So Cato, Katniss, what do you guys think?" says Haymitch.

I quickly glance at Cato, who seems to also be considering it. Plutarch has made it sound simple, but is it, really? Is it really true that this can be pulled off so easily? Sure, Plutarch has his own hovercraft and Avoxes and such, because he's so wealthy, but could we really get away with escaping from the Capitol? President Snow isn't slow. He catches on very quickly. And this worries me, because if we're caught, then we'll all be tortured and executed for sure.

"It doesn't really matter what they think," Enobaria snaps, "We're doing it anyway. It's the only good idea I've heard so far."

I find myself finally lifting my head, and looking back at Cato. He's leaning against the wall, nodding slowly. "Yeah. I think…it seems like a good idea."

"I don't know. What if—" I say, but Enobaria shoots me a glare.

"This _will_ happen. You two need to leave the Capitol. You don't have a choice in this."

I open my mouth to protest but Plutarch steps in, saying "Enobaria is right. You don't really get to decide, sorry."

"Fine. Then…I should probably leave, since I'm not needed now, right?" I say angrily, turning around and exiting the room. I hear Cato behind me, saying "Katniss, wait." But I don't, because I don't want to talk to him. I don't want to talk to anyone, if no one will listen.

* * *

**Cato**

I run to catch up with her, and grab her hand to pull her back towards me. Naturally, she only pushes me away. Well at least this is the Katniss I'm used to.

"You seriously think you can just push me and expect me to leave?" I say smirking.

"Well you don't seem to have a problem doing that to others," she scowls, and turns on her heel, briskly walking down towards the elevator.

"Why are you being like this?" I say, catching up with her again, "You know what? Just stop it. Stop pretending—"

"Pretending?" she says turning to face me. Her voice rises, though it sounds like it's threatening to break at any moment. "So I'm the one who's pretending, Cato?"

I sigh with frustration and take her hand again, this time pulling her into a nearby room that's empty. I shut the door behind us, and she gives me a nervous glance before shaking my hand off once again and going back to her defiant glare. She really is good at this rebellion stuff. Sure has the attitude.

"Look, I know what you're trying to say. I get it. What happened wasn't supposed to and it's my fault."

"So you are sorry after all?" she says.

Damn it, I've messed up. I'm good with swords, weapons, anything but words. Unless they're insults, of course.

"That's not what I meant," I correct myself, "I was just being stupid. Not thinking."

"How is showing your feelings being stupid?" she says quietly.

"Never mind." I say under my breath, "You wouldn't understand." But of course, she hears me.

"Don't tell me what I do or don't understand," she snaps, "It's hard for me, too, okay? Having you kiss me one day and ignore me the next. You don't how I feel either." She crosses her arms across her chest, staring down at the ground.

"You're the one who told me it was a mistake!" I counter, "You told me that it shouldn't have happened—"

"Because that's obviously the only thing I could say at the moment that seemed appropriate!" she yells back, "What was I supposed to say? You looked so damn regretful and appalled that you kissed me! I understood, though. I understood that you're revolted by the idea of even feeling something for me, seeing that I'm from Twelve."

"That's beside the fucking point! Stop mentioning the fact you're from Twelve, because it has _nothing _to do with how I feel about you!"

"Obviously it does, because somehow, you still see me as inferior! Of course, it's all the influence from your mentors and your parents,"

"How dare you say anything about them?! You don't know shit about my life so stay out of it!"

"What's gotten you so mad, your parents?" she says coolly, "I always thought that there was something going on with them. Maybe that's where you inherited your extremely arrogant I'm-too-good-for-you asshole attitude from."

In the next moment, all I see is red. Red memories, red anger, red blood, red hate. Red everything that coats my fucking life.

"DON'T EVER TELL ME—"

"I know that you're angry enough to hurt other people and pretend not to care about them, just because _your _parents didn't love you and—!"

She gasps right afterwards, clapping her hand to her mouth.

_Your parents didn't love you._

The red turns to blinding white and the searing pain in my chest is worse than having a knife running through my flesh.

_Your parents didn't love you._

Words I can't fight.

It's true. I had known it deep inside, but I had never had the truth dished out and presented to me, cold, in my life. And here she is, yelling it in my face like no one has ever done before.

I take slow, but uncontrolled breaths as I stare at anywhere but her fierce grey eyes. How does she know exactly what to say to make me remember everything? Why does she have to be so damn stubborn and insist on bringing back the memories? They twist together in my chest until my breathing becomes shorter and more forced. I would give anything to be able to forget.

"Cato, look, I didn't mean that. You know I didn't." She looks up at me helplessly, and for once, her shoulders slump in defeat. "I'm sorry. That was all uncalled for. I'm sorry."

"Forget it, Fire Girl," I seethe, "You've had your fun telling me exactly what you thought of me. You wanna know what I think of you?"

She opens her mouth to speak, but I won't give her the chance. "You're just another worthless, judgemental bitch who knows nothing about me, what my life was like, what my family was like, nothing. Just because your dear daddy got blown up doesn't mean you know _anything _about what it's like to feel alone."

She stares at me with wide eyes, her hand pressed to her mouth. She shakes her head rapidly and tears begin to fill her eyes, threatening to spill over her red cheeks.

"Oh, so you didn't like me talking about your dead father, did you? Well now you know how it feels, so don't think you know everything. Now get the fuck out of my life and stay out because obviously, you're too blind to see beyond what everyone thinks of me."

* * *

**Katniss**

The next few days are almost impossible. The guilt, anger, pressure, and stress almost make me lose my mind. Cato and I don't speak. Instead, he pretends that I don't even exist, which is worse than him being angry at me and yelling.

I feel horrible. I just couldn't stop the words from coming out of my mouth in that moment. All along, I had known that his parents were some big factor in his life, even though he never talked about them. Just the hints from the arena and a few lines I heard from his mentor were enough. I just didn't think he'd react so badly.

It was my fault. No, it was all because of the stupid kiss. Why had he even done it? He set me in another realm of confusion, and then what had I done? Overanalyzed it, as usual, and blamed him for everything I was feeling. No, we both blamed each other.

After he had mentioned my father, I had almost wanted to _kill _him, but all I could do was stand in shock. The fact that he was angry enough to mention him must have meant that his life was a lot worse than I thought. I had underestimated how messed up of a person he was. I want to talk to him about it. I want to apologize again and find out what he's so angry about and then console him. Of course, he refuses to talk to me again after the fight.

So when we film, the smiles are even more forced than usual. We never meet each other's eyes. I either stare at his chin, mouth, hair, neck, anywhere but his icy eyes. I try to speak to him when we're alone, but he ignores me or just walks away. I know this is just him being more guarded than ever and I should feel fine about it, but I don't. And it hurts.


	18. Melting Point

**Cato**

It happened. Eventually, it happened.

The apology finally sunk in, and although I still had no intentions of speaking with her, I realized that she was right. I shouldn't have messed with her by kissing her—or whatever it was—that night. I only confused her more and set us both in a blur between reality and a fantasy-illusion.

My mind still reels from her comment about my parents. I am _nothing _like them. I will never be. I realize that the only reason she doesn't know about them is because I never bothered to tell her. Then again, I never tell anyone.

Slowly, the scarlet red ebbed from my vision. We had gone back to our neutrality after I spent three days completely ignoring her. I figured that since she apologized to me for speaking about my family, the only right thing for me to do was to apologize for calling her a "worthless, judgmental bitch" and talking about her dead father.

.

"_Katniss."_

_She stiffens when she hears her name, and turns around. She remains stoic, though there's a twinge of sadness in her features. "What do you want, Cato? Care to reject my apology and call me a bitch again?"_

"_Do you always jump to conclusions so quickly?" I say with irritation._

_Coldly, "Not always. But now I'm beginning to know exactly what to expect around you."_

_I study her carefully. She looks different, and although she looks composed, there's a mess underneath. I know a mask when I see one. _

"_And an apology from me was what you had expected?" I say._

_There's only a subtle wrinkle in her forehead, and she blinks slowly before saying, "Apology? You mean…you're here to—"_

"_Don't make this more sentimental than it has to be. It's only fair, after all."_

_Skeptically, "So…you're sorry for what you said?"_

"_Well if you are, then so am I."_

"_I said what I had meant. I'm sorry because I should never have intruded in your personal life and your own business."_

"_Then yes, I'm sorry too," The words are hard to form, and sound almost strangled._

_For the first time in days, she finally relaxes, and gives me a nod. "I forgive you then. Just please don't talk about my father in that way again." She looks clearly disturbed._

"_Only if you don't talk about mine."_

_Without hesitation, "Deal."_

_._

And that was that. A brief, formal apology.

We talk now, although just barely and only when we need to. Although the air between us seems cold, almost stale, we can at least know that we don't hate each other after the screaming match we had. Things still aren't clear and precise, but at least I can sort out my priorities, meaning that I can focus on getting back home instead of getting back at her.

* * *

**Katniss**

"What are we doing here? I thought we were doing more filming?" I say to Plutarch.

We've all met back in one of the conference rooms, the one we had first gone to when he told us about the plan.

"Well, break's over." He says shrugging. "We've found them. The doubles, I mean. I figured that today would be the perfect time to have them come in, since all of the guests from the Districts are arriving today. I want you two to meet Kira and Dale."

"Wait, _Kira_?" Cato says narrowing his eyes. "As in Kira Mar-"

The doors open and they step into the room. The girl, Kira, brings a heavy, floral scent as she smiles sweetly at us. Her honey blonde hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail. Something about the way she carries herself demands attention and displays perfection.

The boy, Dale, may as well be Cato's twin. He also has the exact same body build as Cato, along with light blonde hair and a casual smirk. Except, his hair is much longer, and his eyes are emerald green.

"Kira?" Cato says in disbelief.

"Hello, Carleton." Kira says smiling. "Nice seeing you again."

"You know her?" I can't help but say, and Plutarch says "You two know each other?" at the same time.

"Cato and I are from the same district," Kira says, "And we were both in the same grade level at Stonesworth Academy."

"Well," says Plutarch, "That's brilliant!" He turns to me and says, "Katniss, Kira will essentially be you during the masquerade."

"Nice to meet you, Katniss," she smiles sweetly.

I nod, "You too."

Her smile and kind words don't affect me though. For some reason, there's something about her that makes me dislike her. Maybe it's the way the laughs too much, or how she blinks so slowly and innocently.

"And this is Dale." Plutarch says, gesturing to him. "He'll be your double, Cato. He's from… Ten, is it?"

Dale shakes his head. "Seven, actually." His voice is low and quiet, making him seem even more mysterious.

"Ah, yes," says Plutarch, "Home of the Trees."

Unlike Kira, Dale says no warm greetings to us. He only nods curtly. I'm still slightly fazed by how closely he resembles Cato.

"The masquerade will be tomorrow, of course." Plutarch says to Cato and I. "We'll discuss plans with you two later, but for now, we have to get you all to the remake center."

"What for?" I say.

"To get you and Cato looking like Kira and Dale, and vice versa." Plutarch replies. "Today's our day to prepare and switch up your identities." He almost seems excited, but of course this is all like a game to him.

We follow them out of the room and down the hallway, heading down towards the remake center where Cinna had so brilliantly designed my fire costume. Maybe he'll be there today, turning me into someone I'm not.

Hmm. Switching identities with Kira. That may be something of a challenge, since she looks practically like a goddess compared to me. Thank goodness I don't have to adopt her attitude, either. Haymitch and I had already decided "sexy and alluring" didn't work out for me.

* * *

Over the next few hours, we go through the process of transformation. My hair is dyed blonde, I am given brown contacts, and the prep team does my makeup until my lashes are long and curly, eyebrows perfectly arched, and my cheeks a rosy red. The one difference that everyone has been kind enough not to point out is that Kira has more of a flattering figure, with a curvy body and perfect, long legs. And I…well, I suppose I just look awkward in comparison.

Then we receive our fake ids for when we enter the masquerade. It's just a card that states our birth dates, name, has our picture, and some other sort of numbers. "Kira Marie" and "Dale Hendrix" are already on the guest list, so that's taken care of.

We finally get to all see each other. Kira's hair has been dyed brown and curled into waves, her skin is a bit tanner than before, and her eyes are now gray. But I still don't see how she's like me, at all.

Dale is here too, looking scarily like Cato. But when I study them both closely, I realize that there's a subtle difference between them. Like how Dale's chin is a bit more pointed, and his hair is flatter than Cato's. Also the way Dale's lips seem to be set in a straight, thin line, and how he doesn't smile as frequently as Cato does. But when Dale does smile, he looks like Cato…on his bad days. Cold and menacing. I shiver involuntarily.

Effie comes next, informing us that Cato and I will be staying at the Grand Benita hotel, while Dale and Kira stay in our tribute compartments. Fair enough.

"Cinna and Selva will arrive at the Grand Benita tomorrow, to help you both prepare for the Masquerade," says Plutarch, also joining the group. "They'll also pass on any extra information. But for now, I'll just tell you the basics."

Dale and Kira nod attentively. I wonder if they're seriously alright with being me and Cato. Wouldn't they be punished once Snow finds out they've helped me escape? I guess they're willing to make that sacrifice for the sake of the revolution.

"Okay," says Plutarch, "Kira and Dale will enter the ballroom together. They'll go first, stealing the attention. Then, Katniss and Cato will follow, but each will enter separately. Be as unobtrusive as possible. Don't attract attention."

That part is obvious. I can't have other people looking at me and realizing how much I look like "Katniss".

"At exactly eight thirty, we, meaning Katniss, Cato, Haymitch, Enobaria and I will all meet on the rooftop of the hotel."

"So the dance is going to be—" says Cato.

"In the ballroom of the Grand Benita, yes," says Plutarch. "Which is why you and Katniss are staying there tonight. Anyways," he continues, "You must sign out before you leave the ballroom. Cato, Katniss, just give them your ID and name, and they'll check you off. Then, take the elevator up to the rooftop and we'll be there waiting."

"What do we do in the meantime?" I say. "It starts at six thirty, doesn't it? That means we have two hours until we leave."

"Yes," says Plutarch. "In the meantime, just blend in with the crowd. Dance. Do whatever you think Kira and Dale would do."

"Is it really going to be this easy?" I say, letting a hint of doubt edge into my voice.

"Thankfully, it is," says Plutarch. "Snow doesn't arrive at the masquerade until nine—he has a meeting to attend, which is why we're leaving at eight thirty. We don't want anything… unnecessary to happen. And it's the only two hours that he's out this week, so we have to take advantage of it."

He's right. Somehow, President Snow always knows when something's up. It's best if we leave while he's gone.

"Now," says Effie, "It's time for Cato and Kat—I mean, 'Dale and Kira', to leave. We can't have them stay for too long."

I turn to Plutarch. "Thanks for.. you know, for helping us." I say. I decide that he deserves a thank-you for putting so much time and effort into this. He really does want to get us out of here.

"You're welcome." He places his hand reassuringly on my shoulder. "Now, go. Have fun at the Benita, Kira. See you at the masquerade, seven o'clock, sharp."

* * *

**Cato**

"Wow," says Katniss as we push through the huge revolving doors. "This place is…incredible."

"It's the Capitol." I say shrugging.

Crystal chandeliers cast sparkling light all across the foyer. The floor is pure white marble, and velvet sofas are clustered around on the sides of the room. I've been here before, though I don't remember it very well. There was a field trip when I was six. We all came here to learn more about the magnificent history of the Capitol. Now, I realize there isn't much to be proud about.

We go sign in as Kira Marie and Dale Hendrix. But then, the receptionist hands us one room key instead of two.

"I'm sorry," says Katniss, "But I think we're in separate rooms?"

The receptionist shakes her head. "Mr. Hendrix, Miss Marie, you're both in the same room. It's what you checked in for." She gestures towards a glowing screen on her desk.

Very funny, Plutarch.

"But—" Katniss says.

"Thank you." I interrupt, whisking the key from the woman's hand. I link my other hand around Katniss', and pull her away towards the elevator before she can say anything else.

"Why did Kira and Dale do this?" she hisses. "Why didn't they just—"

"Look, I don't know." I say, seriously, "But let's not mess anything up here. If we change one slight thing, everything could go wrong."

"I don't see what's so wrong about having separate rooms instead of sharing one," she grumbles as we step into the glass elevator, and I can't help but smirk at how upset she is.

"Relax. I'll let you sleep on the bed. I'll take the couch." I say. We are shot up, at least thirty floors high, until the elevator doors open.

We find our room number, 3258, and drop off our bags. It's one of the most luxurious rooms here at the Benita. Too bad we won't be spending much time in it.

"So what now?" Katniss says wearily. She sinks down onto the mountain of cushions on the bed.

I check the clock. Its 7 PM, so we still have a few hours to blow off.

"Well, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going?"

"To get some food."

"I'm coming with you, then," she immediately decides, "I'm starving."

"Of course you are," I scowl, but I decide to let her tag along.

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know, why don't you choose?" I hand her the list of restaurants as we leave the hotel, and she gives it back to me, making a face.

"I don't really want to go anywhere fancy."

"Well in case you haven't noticed, Little Peasant" I say, and she scowls at her nickname, "_Fancy_ is what the Capitol is all about. But I agree, we can't go anywhere too that's elegant and filled with the gossips. We'll probably go somewhere low-key so no one sees us."

Going out of the Benita is risky enough. Going to a restaurant filled with the diehard fangirls and Hunger Games crazed people will be even worse.

Katniss blinks a few times once we're outside, seeming to notice the huge, brilliant buildings for the first time. Lampposts line the whole square and brighten the place up. It's already starting to get dark, but tons of people are still out, shopping I guess.

"So this is the typical life in the Capitol," she comments, breaking the silence, and I sense her dislike. I don't blame her. I detest the lifestyle here just as much as she does.

"Hey," I say wanting to change the topic, "Why don't we go to Oliver's? Their food is more District Seven based, and it's pretty casual."

"Casual?" she raises an eyebrow.

"Unless you want to go to the five-star _Snow Rose_?" I question. It's the best restaurant of Panem that only the wealthiest can afford to eat at. Once, I had sampled the _Aurelia Piscisa, _and it had practically melted in my mouth.

"Ugh, no."

"Didn't think so." I mutter, leading her towards the restaurant.

* * *

**Katniss**

The first thing that I notice is the smell. It reminds me of cozy winter evenings and meat roasting over a fire. I sniff the air, taking in the glorious scent of freshly baked bread. My mouth begins to water, and I realize that I haven't eaten since this morning.

It's strange here. In the midst of high class, elegant five-star restaurants, it would seem as if this place wouldn't belong in the Capitol. Cato's right, this place is casual. The restaurant is designed sort of like a large cabin, but with glossy mahogany tables instead of plain ones. It's pretty full tonight, so a loud chatter fills the room. The chefs in the kitchen can be seen cooking over roaring fires and stoves. Smoke fills the room and makes it a little hazy, but warm. A band is striking up a lively song, and there are even a few people dancing and singing.

"It feels real here, doesn't it?" says Cato, and I nod in agreement. The environment here has lightened his mood, and I'm glad. An irritable Cato only made me feel glum too.

He decides he'll pay for the food, which I'm thankful for because I don't have any money with me. Strangely enough, he pays with a plastic card and not coins. Hmm. Must be a Capitol system that the upper Districts are included in.

And then there's the food. _A lot_ of it too. Actually, I'm the one who gets the heaping plate full of pasta, bread, smoked ham drizzled in orange sauce, and a salad. I dig in without hesitation, and find that it's ten times better than what we are served in the Tribute building. Every bite is delicious.

"You eat a lot for someone your size," Cato says amusedly.

"Well I have to enjoy this. Because I, unlike you," I say taking a sip of water, "didn't live a life with food just handed over to me. I practically had to hunt for every meal." I don't bother to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.

He's silent for a moment, tracing the rim of his cup. "Yeah? Well so did I."

I stop for a moment, setting my fork down. "What?" is all I can say.

"Look, I didn't really have that perfect childhood." He says slowly. "I mean, it's not like what you think."

"Well then…what was it?" I try to be cautious; I don't want him blowing up like he did the other day, but for some reason, he seems set on telling me this. What is going on? Since when does he actually tell me about himself?

"My dad was a past victor. He won the fifty-sixth Hunger Games. But he, well, sort of became an alcoholic. And when I was born…"

His dad? A drunk, like Haymitch?

And then I realize how right but also how wrong I was the whole time. The pieces click together, all the snippets of information I heard from the mentors, his occasionally violent attitude, the walls he puts up around everyone. I feel so guilty all of a sudden. I thought his parents were the strict and unloving type. Not the abusive type.

I can already see where this is going. By the way Cato fiddles with his knife absentmindedly, and his gaze becomes more distant.

"They didn't care and I hate them for that. But soon I learned that I could take care of myself, and I didn't need them. So I started hunting, which didn't work as well as I had hoped, since there wasn't much to hunt. I didn't really get anywhere until I was seven, when I started training at the Academy. Ever since then it's all I've done."

I'm at a loss for words. This is the first time that he's actually told me about himself. Opened himself up to me.

Does this mean he finally trusts me?

I say the only thing that comes to mind, and seems appropriate at the moment. "I'm sorry."

"I know, you've already apologized."

"But I'm still sorry."

"For what?"

"For—for judging you, I guess. The whole time, I thought you were the typical Career. You know, with the perfect life and perfect parents and everything."

"Well, Cave Girl—"

"Really? Is that the best you could come up with?"

"Apology accepted," he says with a smirk, but it sort of turns into a smile, and then a laugh that makes me feel light headed. "You're not bad, Katniss." He says quietly, so that the people around us don't hear my name.

My breath catches in my throat for a moment and I hope I'm not blushing, because I still find that it's uncomfortable to be talking with him like this. I've just gotten over our argument and his apology, and now it almost feels like he's my friend.

"So, your friend, Kira Marie," I say. And at her name, he eyes flash with anger, and his grip on the knife tightens. "You've known her for a while?" I say coolly, as if I were just wondering.

He nods, relaxing but clearly still disturbed. "She isn't my friend. But yeah. We sort of had… a relationship."

"Oh." Is all I say, and I realize I sound slightly disappointed. But I should have known. What guy wouldn't want a relationship with _her, _after all?

"I mean, it wasn't like, a serious one," he says. "The Academy didn't really allow dating. But they never said anything about…" He shifts uncomfortably, and then I realize that I probably don't want to know. He glances quickly up in my direction, and hastily says "Forget about it."

Right. Never mind. Because I really don't want to know about their _relationship_.

There's sort of an awkward silence and I'm beginning to really hate that I brought her up. Kira and her devious smile and angel hair and charm.

"I'm glad we're over, though." He finally says. "It was never worth it. _She _was never worth it. She was worse than Glimmer, always acting like she was some sort of princess. But in the end, everyone knew that she only used others for her own good."

I wonder what she did to him to make him regret her so much. It must have been something really bad. Maybe she just "used" him, like she apparently did to so many others. At least she's actually contributing to something now, and helping us instead of putting herself (more like her body) to use elsewhere. Either way, I just want to stop talking about her.

The environment of the restaurant changes as the fast paced music stops. The leader of the band leans into the microphone, saying something about a love song.

I generally can't stand love songs. They make no sense, and are usually just mushy lyrics put together with some slow "romantic" melody.

"So, do you want to leave now?" says Cato. I'm surprised that he's asking me. Maybe he somehow knows that I don't like cheesy love songs. I'm about to say "Yes," when I realize that I actually don't want to. For some reason, I want to go up to the dance floor and be like one of those happy people, ignorant for just a few minutes and not caring about the world. It's tempting.

Then the band begins to play the song, and I immediately like it. The strums of the guitars are soothing, and the tune is captivating. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay…

"Although you are usually correct in your presumptions about me, Mr. Hendrix," I say, "I don't want to leave—yet."


	19. Prove Them Wrong

**AN: **I recommend that you listen to the song that's in this chapter, Love Love Love. I'm sort of obsessed with the band Of Monsters and Men, and I think they do a great job with it. That's all- enjoy the chapter!

**Katniss**

He raises an eyebrow and his eyes are full of surprise, "You're asking…." He trails off, looking at me bemusedly."Are you feeling alright?"

I feel my cheeks flame and I quickly shake my head. "Never mind. Stupid suggestion," I mutter, mentally cursing myself for being such an idiot.

Then he gets up and before I know it, he's pulling me over to the floor where couples are swaying to the music. I don't protest, but instead my heartbeat quickens unnaturally.

_Well maybe I was a crook  
for stealing your heart away  
and maybe I was a crook  
for not caring for it.  
Yeah, maybe I'm a bad, bad, bad… bad person,  
Well baby I know. _

"I'll never forget this day," he shakes his head in dumb amazement, "Katniss just asked me to _dance. _Did you think I'd be stupid enough to turn down the offer?"

"Whatever. Don't get used to it," I grumble, trying to cover up.

"I don't think I ever will," he snorts, "One can't expect many outbursts of sentiment when dealing with the great Girl on Fire."

I open my mouth to protest but he places his hands on my hips, pulling me in close. I flinch involuntarily at the contact and immediately feel guilty afterwards.

"I don't bite," he says softly, "Don't be afraid, Katniss."

"I'm not," I reply immediately. His emerald eyes search mine for a second, and he nods.

"Good to know we've left that old habit."

I bite my lip to refrain from a sharp intake of breath as I put mine on his shoulders, and we easily find the rhythm to the song. Not too fast, but not too slow either.

_So I think it's best  
we both forget  
before we dwell on it. _

_The way you held me so tight  
all through the night,  
'till it was near morning._

"Didn't know you were such a good dancer, Twelve," Cato says, and I feel heat rising back up to my cheeks. I try to find some sort of witty comeback, but I can't, so I avert my eyes from his gaze and stare somewhere else.

"Hey," he says, tilting my chin back up towards him, "It was a compliment."

"I…I know," I say, smiling.

Oh, no, my skin is tingling again. _Why _does this happen every time he touches me? It's just a dance. It doesn't mean anything.

_Just like how the kiss didn't mean anything_? A small voice in my mind ponders.

I brush the thought away. I don't need to think about that right now.

_Oh 'cause you, loved, loved, loved  
when you knew I couldn't love.  
You loved, loved, loved  
when you knew I couldn't love.  
You loved, loved, loved,  
when you knew I couldn't love you. _

_And these fingertips  
will never run through your skin  
and those bright blue eyes  
can only meet mine  
across a room, filled with people  
that are less important than you. _

He twirls me around in a complete circle, once, twice, three times, interlocking us only by our fingers, and then I'm back looking up at him and trying not to fall from the dizzy sensations revolving in my head.

_Oh 'cause you, loved, loved, loved  
when you knew I couldn't love.  
You loved, loved, loved  
when you knew I couldn't love.  
You loved, loved, loved,  
when you knew I couldn't love, you…._

Slowly, the small gap between us closes. He rests his forehead on mine, closing his eyes. This time, my breath hitches and I refuse to close my eyes, instead, looking at him a bit apprehensively. I study his relaxed features and realize that he's almost physically…perfect. But only physically. One look in his life and I'm horrified, saddened, disgusted, and I see that he's far from perfection.

"Katniss," he interrupts my thoughts, and I find myself once again surprised that he used my name, "I wanted you to know, when we get to Thirteen—"

"Shh," I say, "Just, don't talk about that now, okay?"

I don't want to talk about Thirteen. I don't want to talk about what will happen tomorrow. I just want to enjoy this one moment that is impossibly _real_.

He opens his eyes, an unexpected flash of green, "Yeah, sure." He nods, and I inhale deeply, holding back the thoughts that only worry me more. I don't want to _think._ I don't want to stress. I just want…just want…

I don't know.

I don't want to argue with him, but I want him to tell me everything about himself. I don't want to be this close to him and have to pull back later, but I want to be close enough to drink in his addictive scent that makes my head spin. I don't want to touch him and make him angry, but I want feel his warmth against my skin. I don't want to be pierced by his glacier cool eyes, but I want to taste the rush of ice that comes along with his every breath.

Why does he have to confuse me so much? Why is he the first person I've ever met to have actually messed with my mind, and leave me even more curious?

The last few moments of the song go by too fast. The ending notes are gentle and sweet, but I wish that they would never end. They're too peaceful to fade away.

I break from my trance as soon as I open my eyes. I scan the room and notice that a few people are giving us quirky stares and raising their puffy pink eyebrows. Some children squint at us as if we look familiar. Barely controlled panic rushes through me.

"Ca—Dale, we have to go," I say, frantically grabbing his hand and pulling him away.

"What? Why?" he asks uncertainly, and I glance pointedly at the people around us.

"Fuck, you're right," he mutters, and clasps my hand in his. We disengage ourselves from the crowd and stumble back out into the busy streets. I blink in bewilderment as neon lights slam back into my vision like blinding fireworks after the cozy warm glow from the restaurant. A prickling sensation still crawls on my skin from the dance, but the cold winds brush it away.

"Don't you think your sudden…escape was sort of suspicious?" he questions.

"You know that was too close," I say nervously, "We could have been _caught_." I shake my head, "We shouldn't have even left the hotel. Imagine what would happen if someone saw us and figured out who we were…"

"Yeah, but that's what makes it fun," Cato grins, "I mean, you're right though. It's too risky." He lets go of my hand I'm overwhelmed with a sense of disappointment and need.

" Come on, Dirtface," he nods, "Let's get back to the Benita."

* * *

The smell of soap and something else that smells good floats from the bathroom, where Cato's taking a shower. Meanwhile, I play around with the buttons on a remote, which changes the view when you look up at the ceiling. Currently, it's set on Default—just plain blue sky. I change it so that the ceiling darkens into a midnight blue with stars that look like sparkling diamonds. It reminds me of when my father and I used to lay outside on hot, summer nights and gaze at the constellations.

Father. I miss him. It's so hard not to think about him, and I've managed well over the past few years. But every time I think of him, I still cringe and squeeze my eyes shut. It helps block out the pain. I sigh and place the remote back on the nightstand. It's strange how I actually have nothing to do right now. Just being me, which is hard and confusing enough when "me" is really Kira.

I must have been unaware of when the water stopped running, because then, Cato steps out of the bathroom. Half-naked, with a towel resting slightly below his hips and water dripping from his hair and down his abs. I roll my eyes at his boldness.

He catches me staring, and I feel myself blush furiously. I try acting casual, but of course, it doesn't work.

"You'd think I'd be used to the fuck-me eyes by now, but every time you look at me all that comes to mind is you savagely shooting me down with an arrow," he thinks aloud, then pauses, "Fascinating, huh?"

I just about want to slap him. Funny how he can go from serious to his old, arrogant self so quickly. "Shut up, _Dale_." I say grumpily. "And put some clothes on, you've haven't got anyone here to impress."

He throws me his trademark smirk, muttering "Yeah, right," under his breath. He grabs his bag of clothes and goes back to the bathroom to change. I decide that maybe if I pretend I'm sleeping, I don't have to face another awkward situation. I lie down, pulling the blanket over my body and turning onto my side.

And before I know it, my eyes are actually drooping. _So tired. _The last few notes from a song are drifting from the bathroom, deep and soothing, and my last thought is _…is Cato..singing_?

* * *

**Cato**

It's hard to sleep.

Not that it isn't comfortable. I've had a lot of experience sleeping on couches, and this one is by far the best.

But the sleep talking, rambling and random cries coming from Katniss keep me up. Must be nightmares getting to her.

I check the clock—midnight. This can't go on any longer. I know what it's like to suffer from bad dreams; it's like a fucking torture plan straight from the Capitol. So I decide to wake her up, maybe just to get her out of it.

"Katniss?" I say, shaking her shoulder.

"Please, come back," she mumbles in her sleep, "No!"

Her eyes flash open and her hand flies to my arm, holding on to it with a death grip. She breathes heavily, her eyes wild and pupils dilated in fear.

"Cato?" she says uncertainly, letting go. "What—what happened?"She sits up, rubbing her forehead. "I..I saw Prim. And Buttercup, our cat," she mumbles sleepily, and though I hate to admit it, she actually looks cute when she's so disorientated.

"It was a dream," I say, "I had to wake you up. You sounded pretty miserable. That, plus I couldn't sleep."

"Oh. Right, a dream," she says, her lower lip trembling. "Everyone from my District was gone."

I don't really know what to say. I'm not really good at comforting people, so that's unfortunate for her. But it would feel wrong to just go back to sleep and ignore her.

"Sorry for waking you up by the way," she fidgets with her hair, twisting it quickly into a braid. "It's just that, nightmares…they're like a habit. They come every night and haunt me." In that moment, I feel a sudden urge to comfort her. I keep my hands firmly planted on the mattress to resist the temptation.

"Cato…while you're up, can I ask you something?" she says quietly meeting my gaze from below her eyelashes.

"Sure." I say. I'm not really in the mood to talk, but I'm not tired either. I sit down at the edge of the bed, the whole time she stares at me intently with those brown eyes that aren't hers.

"What were you trying to say earlier? About when we get to Thirteen?"

Oh. That question.

Damn it, I was hoping she would forget. It doesn't even seem right to mention it now. How do I even tell her this?

"Katniss, I don't really know what's going on..between us," I say slowly, hoping she'll understand. "But whatever it is, I don't think it'll be this way once we get to Thirteen."

"What d'you mean?" she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

I didn't want this to be awkward, but it is. Her brows are knit in confusion and she tugs on the end of her braid, still staring at me intently.

How do I explain something to her that I'm not even sure about myself? I thought we hated each other. Then I thought we were fine. Then I thought we were friends. But dancing with her at Oliver's made me feel different, for once. It felt like something was established, something unspoken but mutual. So how do I tell her that whatever we have won't work?

I rub my eyes tiredly. Why do girls have to be so fucking complicated? "We can't be, well, together. Not without a reason like here, where we're supposed to be in love." The moment the words leave my mouth, I hate myself for saying it. Seriously, what was I thinking? What does she even see me as?

"Are you saying you're _ashamed_ to be with me in front of other people?" says Katniss, "After all that's happened the past few weeks, after we've talked and argued and fought about it and made up, you're still refusing to be seen with me?"

"That isn't what I'm saying. It isn't your fault."

"Well then what are you trying to say?" she narrows her eyes.

"Look, I don't even know what's going on here. I…I don't know why I feel like this whenever I'm around you. I shouldn't.." Fuck, why can't I talk straight? I can't let my voice fade again and lose control of the situation. A strong and commanding voice is what gives you power, but all that seems to do to Katniss is hurt her every time.

I finally let the frustration sink back into my tone. "Enobaria and Brutus—they keep telling me that I'm weak because of all this."

For the first time in days, Katniss stares at me with regained hostility. "So you're blaming me for making you look weak?" Although she seems angry, her voice falters at the last word. She just doesn't understand.

* * *

**Katniss**

He has no right at all to say this. I've done nothing wrong. In fact, I'm trying to _help_ him.

"Yes. I mean, no I'm not blaming you," he blurts out. He groans and buries his face in his hands.

"That's what it sounds like."

"No! This isn't about you! It's about…it's about me!" he says, shaking his head. "It's never been your fault. It's just that I always found it easier to blame you. I never had to guts to admit that it's because I'm a coward. I'm a fucking coward and I hate it and…" he trails off, staring at me intently as if willing me to know what he's thinking.

"And what?" I ask softly. I've never heard him admit that he was weak. I've never seen him so vulnerable.

"All my life, it's been the same," he says bitterly, "Training and training for the Games. It's all I've done and all I really know how to do. But then you come along, and everything falls apart. I thought it was alright at first. I really thought I was going to be fine, just because I felt _good_ around you, like I actually mattered."

"You do—"

"Then Brutus came to visit," he continues, "And made me realize that going to Thirteen means going to reality. And in reality, I'm not supposed to be…you know. I won't have the dumb Capitol romance thing going on as an excuse for me to be around you. I think, there's something different about you, Katniss," he says slowly, "In a good way, I mean." A small burst of excitement sparks within me, flaming up and driven by crazy hope, "But I can't do this."

The flame dies.

"You can't just talk about yourself like your some…_object. _Or like another piece in Snow's game," I say with frustration. "Like you're supposed to be a certain way or do certain things."

"It's true." He mutters, seemingly in some sort of stubborn, self-deprecating state. His eyes have gone back to steel. He doesn't even look like himself now, he looks more like Dale. He clenches a fistful of sheets in his hand, his muscles tensing up.

A small streak of fear hits me in the chest. He almost looks like he did before the Games. Brutal and cold.

"No, it isn't." I argue, "Why would you let someone other than yourself control you, Cato? Can't you admit you want something, for once? For your own selfish reasons?"

"Yeah? Well give me one good reason they're all wrong," he challenges coldly. He tilts his head, waiting for my response, knowing full well that I won't come up with one.

The reason is that I..maybe..quite possibly have feelings for him. Maybe I hadn't always known it, and it took a fight and an apology and a dance for me to realize that. If I admit them, would he believe me?

I can't do this anymore. I can't have this internal fight in my mind, one side pulling me away and one side pushing me closer to him. I need to just stop _thinking._

Impulsively, I tug at his shirt and pull him towards me, my lips colliding with his. He's unresponsive at first—shocked and still in denial—but then he relaxes and pulls me closer by my waist before putting more force into the kiss. His lips are soft and warm, so different than the stormy eyes that send shivers down my back.

We break apart, and I say "Because of that."

He stares at me in shock for a moment. I hold my breath, preparing for anger, for the realization and inevitable outburst.

Instead, he reaches out and pulls the hair tie from the end of my braid, running his hand through my hair and leaving it messily undone.

"I…I just—"

"You what? Want to deny that just happened too, just like you did with the first one?" I say.

"I never denied it," he says.

"No, but you did say you wanted to forget it," I remind him, "You said that it was best if we forgot and—"

Before I can register what is really happening, his lips capture mine again and effective silence me. They move with a sudden motivation; perfectly paced against mine and unraveling every wound up emotion within me. He tangles his fingers in my hair and my back softly hits the mattress when he pushes me down.

"You just need to shut up sometimes, you know?" he whispers hoarsely. I shiver, nodding and unable to produce a single sentence. He kisses me again, his tongue tracing my lower lip before slipping in my mouth. I interlace my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer and feeling the heat radiate off every inch of his body. The small flame in the pit of my stomach flares up again.

"Cato," I say breathlessly, still probably like an inarticulate idiot, "Please… tell me you've changed your mind by now. And don't you _dare _say maybe."

He hesitates for a moment and I can see the logic formulating at a torturously slow rate in his mind. Finally, his cool breath ghosts over my cheek when he leans in and says "After this? I think I have. You know how I feel," he continues, "And…I'll try, Katniss."

I run my fingers his soft blonde hair which is disheveled and sticking up as usual. He's still tense above me and his eyes still look distant, as if he's sorting things out and arguing with himself. If only I could take a look in his head and see what goes on behind the scenes of his acts. If I could just get one look, and get a good idea of what he really thinks…

"Good," I finally manage to say, when I regain my senses, "Because I hate maybes."

"Me too." He gives me another light, chaste kiss.

"Are you trying to deprive me of my sleep tonight?" I mumble afterwards.

"If you'd like that," he says with false modesty, "Then—"

"No! That's not…never mind." I say, feeling my cheeks get even hotter. Why does he always have to take whatever I say in a different way?

He chuckles and shoves me playfully. I can already see him regaining his sarcasm and humor, readjusting the mask. "Maybe some other time, _Fire Girl_."

"In your dreams." I say.

"Probably," he adds nonchalantly and without hesitation.

I smack his arm, "What are you talking about?!"

"Nothing, I swear," he laughs, "I was kidding!"

"Good," I glare at him, but I can't help feeling a small amount of curiosity and desire, nagging away in the corner of my brain.

A faint trace of a grin is still on his face, "For now, get some sleep. Tomorrow's a big night."

I nod, "You too. I'll try not to wake you up with my nightmares again." Then, I hesitate before saying, "You're going back to sleep on the couch, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he shrugs, and I hope I don't sound desperate right now.

"Could you..erm..could you stay?" I fidget uncomfortably with my hands and avoid looking directly at him.

_What am I saying? Did I really just ask him to stay, and sleep with me? Is this going too far? _I groan internally, how stupid could I possibly be?

I glance up to check his reaction—there's a slow realization in his eyes. I'm about to back out and say "Never mind", but he only tilts his head a questioningly bit, and relents saying "Sure."

Did he just say yes? I honestly don't think I could get any luckier. We both silently interchange the message—_just sleeping tonight_, _and only tonight._ Just to keep the demons away.

I feel sort of like a little child when he lies back down next to me and I curl up near him, but not quite touching him. I breathe in his scent that clouds my brain like a drug, and slowly, my eyes begin to feel heavy and droop again. He brushes away a few strands of hair that are in my face, and whispers one last thing. But I don't hear it, because my mind is already being pulled away by a dreamless sleep.

.

**AN: **I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I spent a lot of time on it because I'm sort of a perfectionist and wanted to get that last scene right. What do you think? Review :)


	20. Unmask Me

**Cato**

Fragments of a distorted dream swim through my memory right before I open my eyes and let the sunlight filter through my vision. I try and recall the pieces of the dream that felt so inappropriately _right._ Me rambling about my life in my half-asleep state. Katniss trying to tell me differently. And then kissing her.

I shift my arm which has gone uncomfortably numb because… what the hell? I almost push her sleeping form away from me, but then I remember what happened last night. Fuck, it really happened. It wasn't a dream.

I really talked to her about everything, and it felt so _good _to finally confide in someone. With all the other girls from Two, nothing was real. Being with them was just a way to keep life going, to keep my rep as top of the group. They were all lies I used to cover what I had done, in the past. But Katniss listened and understood. At least, she listened to what I had to tell her. I push away the memories that I decided to leave out in last night's confession; the ones that still give me nightmares.

"Katniss?" I whisper, shaking her.

No response. She can _seriously_ sleep.

I jab at her ribs, and suddenly her eyes fly open and her hand whacks my face with alarming speed. I wince at first, but then start laughing at her horrified expression.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" she gasps.

"No, I'm writhing in pain," I roll my eyes.

"That's what you get for waking me up," she mumbles, burying her face back in the pillow. There's silence for a moment, where she refuses to speak with me.

"You're pretty weird for such a grouchy girl, you know." I finally say.

"And you're pretty vulnerable for a wannabe victor," she returns, sitting up and smirking triumphantly.

"That's it," I growl, "You really need to watch what you say," and I tackle her back down until she's laughing again, and then I'm laughing, because it's so contagious.

"What, are you _ticklish?_"

Pause. "No."

"Liar," I say, and tickle her ribs again. She starts laughing uncontrollably and smacking my hand away.

"No!"

"Yeah, you are!"

She thrashes around, her cheeks turning crimson and her hands trying desperately to push me away.

"Stop it! Stop! Alright, I'm tic- ahh!"

I decide I've had enough of torturing her, and sit back and smirk at her crazed state. Her hair is tangled around her and she's clutching her sides, breathing heavily.

"You know, I—I was.. kidding." She says in between breaths and random bursts of laughter, "You're a winner, Cato. Everyone knows it."

I turn to lie on my back, and stare up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I didn't really win, you know. You're the one who saved us both in the end."

"But you saved my life in the first place, from Clove," she reminds me.

"Hm. Guess we're even then." I shrug.

"Guess you're right."

* * *

**Katniss**

We spend the rest of the morning having "brunch", which I suppose is just breakfast and lunch, in our hotel room. There's nothing really to do. Since it would be suspicious to leave the room together, we just end up talking.

My curiosity makes me want to ask him more and more questions. He's hesitant at first, like he doesn't want to answer. It's like he's still shutting the doors and keeping me out. But slowly, he begins to open up and tell me more about his life.

He tells me about this girl named Gaphne. He met her when he was fifteen. She was also a neglected child, but too weak to fend for herself since she was only five. Their relationship isn't quite like me and Gale's, but she was the only person he actually missed while he was away. I asked him why he never talked about her, and he said that it was only because he didn't want to appear ridiculous, having an eight year old be his only real friend. I laughed, and told him that I was also a loner back in Twelve. He only rolls his eyes and says "Well obviously."

I don't want this to end, but the time flies by. Soon, afternoon comes around and it's time for us to get dressed for the masquerade. Cato has gone to meet his stylist somewhere, and Cinna arrives, carrying something wrapped up in a bag. Thank goodness I still have him, even though Kira should really be getting him since she's now Katniss.

"So I'm guessing I don't get treatment from the prep team today?" I say to Cinna.

"No, they couldn't come because of the whole switchup," he says almost apologetically.

I laugh and say "Actually, I'm glad I don't have to go through an hour of torture and gossip. What's in the bag by the way?"

Cinna grins with pride as he unzips the bag, and I stare in awe as silky waves of green spill out. He removes the creation from the bag and helps me try it on. A floor length strapless dress with an open back, made of pure silk that gathers at the top of my ribs and drops down to my feet. The whole design of the dress is simple, yet flawless. Not like those ridiculous dresses all the women here wear, the kinds that poof out sort of in a hoop. This dress doesn't stand out unless you really look at it and absorb the deep emerald green color, and how the fabric ripples every time it moves.

"The goal is to make sure you don't stand out," Cinna instructs. "All eyes need to be on Kira, meaning you have to be as unnoticeable as possible. I wanted to find something that wouldn't be too eye-popping. What do you think?"

"It's so beautiful," I say smiling, "It's perfect."

"Oh, and the mask. We can't forget the most important part." He says with a twinkle in his eye. He pulls out a matching green mask, which is equally beautiful. On the right side, the mask comes upwards in sort of a feather design, though it looks more like a flickering flame. A few small emeralds dot it, but other than that, it's also just as simple. I try it on, and it fits perfectly, ending just at my cheeks.

My hair is done in loose curls cascading down my back, and I slip into a pair of classic black heels.

"Cinna," I finally say, turning away from my reflection. "Thank you for, well, everything."

I realize that he won't be coming to Thirteen with us, since he's a stylist and stylists can't exactly go missing. It isn't right. He deserves to go. After all, he's who made me the Girl on Fire.

"I'm going to miss you a lot." I whisper.

"Me too," he sighs, and places a comforting hand on my shoulder, "It's alright, though. Who knows? Maybe by the end of all this, we'll see each other again."

I hold back a tear and nod. He's been the only true friend, who was there for me all along ever since I got here. He was the only one who understood me and listened to me. I don't want to leave him. So I give him one last hug, and he chuckles softly.

"Now," he pulls himself away from me. "Ready to leave?"

I take a deep, calming breath, and nod, trying to scatter the depressing thoughts from my mind. "Yeah. I guess I am."

"Good." He surveys my appearance one last time, brushing a loose blonde strand of hair from my face, and smiles warmly. "See you soon, Mockingjay."

* * *

I wait impatiently in the line, twisting the ends of my curls and wondering if Cato's already in. Hundreds of people buzz around, greeting each other with pecks on the cheek and complimenting each others' dresses. High pitched squeals come from other girls my age as they talk about Cato. It makes me feel sick.

Finally, I reach the front of the line. I flash my ID card, say my name is Kira Marie, and receive some sort of stamp on my hand that glows on my skin. I don't know what it is for, but at least I made it through.

For a moment, I just observe the scene, caught up in everything. The ballroom isn't just grand tonight, it's magnificent. The room itself is enormous, and an elegant melody floats from the orchestra up on stage. Hundreds of costumed and masked people fill the room with their dancing and happy chatter. Kira and Dale are easily visible, they're holding hands and in the center of a crowd. Kira is wearing a fluffy, white gown, and Dale a crisp, dark gray suit. His mask is black and rather plain.

But it seems as though other Capitol citizens and lucky guests from the Districts have decided to go all-out. One woman is fully dressed in a flaming costume, with hair sticking straight up and dyed bright orange. Another is some sort of dragon, with a fiery mask and horns. I suppose my fire theme has gained a lot of popularity.

I scan the crowd for Cato. Where is he? Surely he can't be late. It's hard to locate him among the mass of glittering creatures, bursting with color. Especially when they're all wearing masks.

Suddenly, I feel someone bump into my shoulder. I stumble a bit on my heels and the person catches me by my elbow, whirling me around. I come face to face with someone wearing a silver mask, emerald eyes staring back at me.

"Ca—Dale?" I say.

"Hey, Kira." He says grinning.

"How'd you know it was me?" I say narrowing my eyes. Is it that easy to tell?

"Because I know you. And you look…" he rakes his gaze down my body, "Amazing."

I look down, hoping that he won't catch me blushing. His compliments and kind remarks always throw me off and leave me confused.

"Thank you." I say quietly, and for a moment, his eyes flicker down to my lips and back up to my eyes. But we both know that he can't. Not here.

"See you in two hours then" he finally says.

I let out the breath I've been holding and stutter "Yeah, r-right…two hours."

He smirks and walks past me, purposely bumping into my shoulder again.

* * *

**Cato**

It's completely boring. All the ridiculous costumes and slow dancing, the freaky fangirls and the hushed gossiping coming from every group of women I pass by, all talking about how pretty Katniss looks tonight. It's another social event and I hate it.

It isn't long before a smooth voice interrupts my thought. I look up and see Kira, looking like some sort of angel, standing in front of me and smiling like she's so fucking innocent.

"Hello, Dale? Is it?" she asks, smiling sweetly.

"What do you want, Kira." I mutter, quietly enough so no one hears.

"A dance, maybe?"

"No." I automatically respond. But her look changes to a more serious one, and she whispers "Get up, you don't have a choice. Haymitch said so."

Well, if Haymitch wanted Kira to dance with me, then it must have been for a good reason. So I scowl and stand up, taking her hand in mine. She smiles pleasantly once more as we begin to dance.

"So you don't look suspicious right now, dancing with a stranger?" I say.

"Oh, no. Dale sort of left to go get something to eat, I think. Anyways, there's been.." her voice lowers, "A change of plans."

"Oh, really?" I mimic her hushed dramatic tone.

She nods, "Snow is arriving early. You and Katniss are leaving at eight instead of eight thirty."

Snow is coming early? Since when?

"Is that all?" I raise an eyebrow, and she nods.

"Yes, that's all."

"Have you told Katniss yet?"

She pauses only a split second before replying. "Yes, of course."

I search the room Katniss and find her on the opposite side of the room, talking to Haymitch. Or, was it Haymitch who wore the burgundy mask?

"Looks like Haymitch is just checking to make sure she got the memo." Kira says, her voice light and casual. But her brow is sort of furrowed as if something's wrong.

"Well," I say curtly, "Thanks for the message."

"What, are you just going to _leave_ me? The song isn't over yet!" she protests.

"Kira, just, stop it." I say, "If you liked dancing with me so much, then you should have said so before you—"

"Oh, do _not_ blame me for what happened between us." She hisses, "_You_ were the one who ended it, remember?"

"Can we not talk about this?"

She gives me a cruel stare, going into that mode where she gets unbelievably obnoxious and evil. "You've already started it. So we need to finish it."

"Fine," I say, gripping her arm tightly. But she doesn't even flinch. "Tell me. _What the hell were you thinking_ when you left me at the Academy?"

She digs her sharp nails into my arm and returns easily to a smile, "I didn't leave you, Cato. I did what was best for us."

"So sleeping with your trainer was what was best for us?" I say resentfully. "I don't get you, Kira."

"I know." She whispers, "And I'm sorry. I really, really am."

"It's too late for that now. You royally screwed up everything we had." I try to brush her off as the song ends, but she clings on to my arm.

"No! Just listen to me," she says, "I know that when you broke up with me, you were upset—"

"And grateful," I mutter.

"But we're past that now," she says, her voice a coaxing tone. I've heard it before. It's the voice she uses whenever she wants to get something that she wants.

"Kira!" I say, "You know I don't give a fuck about you, so stop trying."

"All I want is for you to tell me that I'm right, and that we can maybe be friends again. Please?" She looks at me with a serious expression, and I know that she's actually being honest.

I hated her. I hated her so much that I used to stay at the training center and throw spears at the hearts of dummies, pretending they were all her. I've mentally killed her about a thousand times, and I've satisfactorily imagined her being taken by the Capitol and becoming an Avox.

But she still has that charm over me. It's like I'll never, truly be able to leave her.

"How about I get you drink?" she says eyeing me closely. "It's the least I can do."

"Sure," I mumble, just wanting her to go away.

She leaves, and I groan inwardly. What just happened? There is no way I'll ever forgive her, but I guess I should give her some credit for trying to apologize. Maybe she's changed after all.

She returns only a minute later, handing me a bubbling drink.

"To friendship?" She says, raising an eyebrow and holding her glass up.

"Yeah, whatever," I say, "Cheers."

She watches me from over the rim of her cup as she sips whatever's in her glass. I decide to just down it all in one big gulp. The liquid is fizzy and has a sharp taste to it. I'm pretty good when it comes to Capitol alcohol, but I can't quite identify what this is.

Only less than a minute later, I begin to get a funny feeling in my head. The voices of the people around me are too loud. My stomach hurts.

Maybe I should have taken that drink a bit slower.

"Are you okay?" Kira says, sounding concerned. "You look a bit sick."

"I'm fine." I mutter. "I just.. Need to go."

Suddenly, I have a random urge to just do it. I don't know why. I need to.

"Go where?"

"I need to do something." I say, although by the way she stares at my hand that's clutching my stomach, she's no doubt thinking I'm sick and I need to puke.

"Well," she says sighing, "It was nice seeing you again, Cato. I really missed you."

I can't tell if she really means it, because at the moment, my head is beginning to swim and all I know is that...I have to go do this.

* * *

**Katniss**

Where is Cato? Right now, I see Kira, who's holding a drink and talking to Dale. Hm, he looks a bit sick. Probably had too much to drink. Speaking of which, Haymitch is drinking _again_, no surprise. Effie is being a fashion star at the moment, showing off her recent tattoo. Enobaria is prowling near the food, scaring off anyone who approaches her. Plutarch had already left to prepare the hovercraft and smooth out any minor bumps in the procedure.

So the only person missing is Cato. But I can't really look for him at the moment, because everyone seems to have turned their attention up to the stage.

The orchestra has stopped playing. Instead, Dale stands there, maskless. He looks slightly unfocused and out of it for a moment. He takes the microphone and taps it, calling for the rest of the room's attention.

"Hello." He says grinning boyishly, as if he's suddenly gained confidence.

Everyone responds enthusiastically, clapping and cheering for their handsome victor.

"Tonight," Dale begins, "I want to dedicate a song to someone who means a lot to me. I wouldn't have been able to do all the things I've accomplished without her. Katniss, this is for you."

Cheers come from the audience. I scan the crowd, looking for Kira, but I don't see her. There are too many obnoxious feathers and hats obstructing my view.

I look back up at Dale and for a second, his eyes flicker over to me. I immediately look away so nothing is obvious, and mostly so that I don't attract attention. Why is he looking at me? Thankfully, no one even noticed in the first place.

I decide to sit down and listen to Dale's song anyway. He's a pretty good actor—better than I had thought—to be able to act like he cares so much for Katniss.

I have to admit, I'm impressed when he starts singing. He hits the high notes perfectly and puts so much emotion into it... It's hard to believe that the serious, stony faced version of Cato can actually perform. His voice is deep, kind of soft and sexy. The song itself is beautiful, and almost reminds me of the one Cato and I danced to in Oliver's. Slow, but with a good rhythm.

His voice becomes deeper and a bit more emotional as he sings the last few lines, even pausing at some points. The band has entirely stopped playing to allow everyone to hear him, only him. His unwavering, heavenly voice sweeps across the entire room, and the only other sound is the shallow breathing of the people around me, all captivated, mockingjays entranced….

The silence breaks as he finishes the last note, interrupted by the massive applause and cheering coming from every single person. Some are even tearing up.

Dale looks surprised at first, but then speaks into the microphone. "Thank you, that's..that's all." His speech is slightly slurred, and I'm thinking he definitely had a bit too much to drink.

* * *

**Cato**

My head is spinning even more now, and I'm starting to see small black dots appear in my vision.

"Why don't we go somewhere more… private?" Kira whispers in my ear.

"Go away" I manage to say without snapping at her. Somehow, my hands begin to tremble. I can't stop it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Come on," she giggles, pulling me away, "It'll be fun."

I feel completely powerless as she drags me out of the ballroom, and into some sort of closet in the hallway. Damn it, why do I suddenly feel so weak?

She shuts the door, and then instantly shoves me up against the wall.

"Did you enjoy your drink, Victor boy?" she laughs spitefully.

And it suddenly dawns on me, that she spiked my drink with something.

"What was in it?" I growl at her, trying to push her off of me. But she pins me onto the wall with her forearms. I'd also forgotten that she was the strongest girl in level twelve at the Academy.

"Only something to knock you out for about an hour," she says, tilting her head and grinning smugly.

"Kira! Why are you doing this? Are you in—"

She clamps her hand on top of my mouth, giving me a threatening glare.

"No need to shout for help. The drug is already taking effect. It's been five minutes now, so you'll be out soon." She rips the mask off of my face and tosses it onto the floor.

She inspects my face critically. "You're still really hot, but siding with that Fire Girl? Pathetic."

"You don't get it."

"You sang a song for her. I think I understand what's going on," she says slowly. "I mean, since when does Carleton sing? I have to admit, it _was _pretty sexy, but still. She didn't deserve that from you of all people." A flash of jealousy appears for a moment, but then it's gone.

"Kira! If you would just—"

This time, she shuts me up by kissing me fully on the mouth.

What. The. Fuck.

For a moment I almost comply, but then I realize that it's Kira. The same girl who deceived everyone maliciously and the girl who is now my enemy.

I decide that maybe I should just choke her and make a run for it, but then she rips my jacket off, and her hands slide under my shirt, massaging my abs.

"Tell me you miss this," she purrs, nibbling on my earlobe before kissing me again. She unbuttons my shirt and aggressively tugs it off of me.

"Kira…" I groan, and want to say _No, I don't. I hate you._ Her tongue expertly slides into my mouth and her fingers dance over my now bare chest. Everything in my mind is telling me that this isn't right. That I shouldn't be doing this with her. But the drug overpowers me and instead, I feel myself losing the battle. Giving in.

Her hands are beginning to drift down towards my belt when suddenly, the door opens and light comes streaming in. I abruptly push her off with all the strength I have left.

I blink a few times, even though my brain is making all the images and darkness and light blend together. There's a figure wearing a green dress. Green silk.

Katniss stands there, looking completely shocked and blushing a bit. Then her eyes travel down, and she sees the silver mask lying on the ground. She freezes.

"Cato?" her voice trembles, "You…"

Her expression immediately changes as she realizes what's really going on. Her eyes show the hurt and betrayal that I remember seeing all too well after the Games, and a suddenly painful feeling of having a dagger in my back resurfaces.

"Katniss, wait. Just..waitamoment, it isn'tlike—like.." I mumble, but she only shakes her head and turns, running. Damn.

I turn back to Kira, "What's your _problem_?" I lift my hand to smack her face, but my hand is too heavy. It must weigh a hundred pounds.

"Oh, she'll get over it." She says casually, inspecting her nails as if nothing has happened.

"Fuck you." I bang my head against the wall.

"You already have." She smirks.

And slowly, I feel a falling sensation. My stomach is doing somersaults. The stars are growing bigger and bigger. A murky, black ink begins to take over my vision.

"About time." I hear another voice mutter, and Kira laughs.

"What a show, right?"

.

**AN: **Yes, you were right to be suspicious of Kira and Dale. Kira is like Enobaria mixed with Clove mixed with Glimmer. Scary, evil little b—I mean, traitor.

And to clarify what happened earlier, it was really Cato who was up there singing. But he didn't have a mask on and Katniss thought he was Dale, because they look practically identical. So Cato was actually singing to Katniss and not Kira. He had already been drugged by Kira, so going up there to sing was like a random impulse he had. I think that covers it. Please review!


	21. Shattered Glass

**AN: **You're going to hate me after reading this chapter..just a warning. You won't like it. And it's only in Katniss' POV because Cato's out. This chapter is short, but the next one will be longer, I promise.

**Katniss**

Shock, then anger.

How could he do this to me?! To himself?!

Liar!

He even told me that Kira destroyed his life. How could he just go back to her, like everything between them was normal again?

It's like reliving the moment where I learned that he was against me the whole time during the Games. There's a crumbling sensation. I tremble as I try to keep the picture of them out of my head. But there's still that anger and renewed hate. After all that's happened, after he let his guard down around me and I accepted him, he goes back to her. He told me he was over her! I should have known better than to get close to him. Ugh, what a Liar!

I stumble back into the ballroom, wishing that I weren't wearing a dress. All I want to do is go into a random room and figure everything out. Maybe cry. Let my emotions overcome logic. But I can't, so I remain stoic as I take a seat in a chair, away from everyone else.

"Watch where you're going, Katniss," someone hisses at me, and I turn to see who it is. Because only a few people know who I really am.

She wears a violet mask with gold stripes on it, and a matching dress. When she grins, I catch a glint of gold in her teeth. Oh. Enobaria.

"Sorry," I mutter, though I don't really remember bumping into her.

"I don't mean now," she says, "I mean..earlier."

Did she see me walk in on Cato and Kira? Is it possible that she knows what's going on?

"Yes," she says, as if answering my questions, "I have eyes around places, you know. And I think you two got a little too _cozy_ last night."

Oh, so she meant last night.

"So you had people spy on us?" I say in disbelief.

"I had to make sure you two didn't run into any trouble. And trust me, you were pretty close."

"That's none of your business." I scowl at her.

"Let me make things clear." She takes a seat across from me, "I am his mentor. I decide what happens. And _you_, Coal Girl, were never intended to be a part of his life."

"I think Cato's old enough to make his own choices." I say, though my voice is still trembling.

"Oh, really?" a sarcastic smile stretches across her face. "You think he wants to love you?"

"We said nothing about 'love'" I say, gritting my teeth.

"That's what it apparently looked like" she says sourly. "So Coal Girl, if you know what's best,"

_Which I do, now that I've seen what he's really like. The self-centered, arrogant bastard who won't let go of Kira._

"—then you would stay away from him. You're wasting your feelings on him. The boy just can't accept love, it's too much for his life. So stop. Trying."

I want to yell and explode that I don't love him. Especially not after what I just saw. In fact, I might just hate him now. What has he done to show me he can faithfully care about me? What happened to the trust?

"You know what? Fine." I say. "I'll leave him alone, if that's what you want. I'm beginning to think that's what I want, too."

Enobaria looks slightly taken aback by how easily I've agreed with her. Well, she didn't see what I saw.

"Wonderful." Her lips curve back up into a smile. "So glad you understand."

"Yeah, I do." I say bitterly.

"See you at eight, Mockingjay."

I look up at the clock and notice that we only have ten minutes left. Time has gone by too fast. In only ten minutes, I'll be out of here for good. With Cato, of course.

I try not to think about him, but it's hard, especially when the past twenty four hours was the best time I've ever spent with him. It doesn't mean anything now. He obviously doesn't care anymore, or else he wouldn't have been in that closet, hooking up with her.

Part of me still feels jealous. What has she done to deserve him? She doesn't even care for him. If she had hurt him so badly, then it's just wrong for her to take him back. That's what she is. Vicious and backstabbing, just like all the other people from Two. Mental note—don't trust Enobaria.

But that's okay. I'll just move on, be happy when I get to Thirteen and see Prim and Gale and mom. I won't need to worry about him once we get there. He has his own life to get back to, and I have mine.

So I guess this is it, then. We're really done. We're done, and I just want to break down and _cry._

* * *

"Leaving so early, Miss Marie?" he asks, scrolling down the list to find my name.

"Yes," I say stiffly, "I have other places to go to."

I show him my id card once more, and he signs me off, running a scanner over the stamp on my hand.

"Have a good night." He calls after me, and I can't help but think how wrong he is. It'll be a horrible, awful night.

I take the elevator up to the rooftop. It looks like everyone's already here, including Cato. _Just avoid eye contact_, I think to myself. I don't want to speak to him, or even look at him. So I jog over to Haymitch, who's staring up at something in the sky.

"What is it?" I try to find what he's seeing, but all I see are the stars and the inky blue sky.

"It's brilliant." He murmurs, "The hovercraft, I mean. They've camouflaged it."

"Wait, you're saying that the hovercraft is here?" I say.

He's right though, because I can hear the hum of energy coming from somewhere above us. I just can't really see it.

"That's right." Plutarch says proudly, "It took me a while, but I managed to have it invisible—for now. Once we start moving at a certain speed, it'll be visible again. This means we'll have to get out of here while we can." He checks his watch, "Snow will be here in half an hour. Once we make it past the District Two border, we'll be safe."

"District Two?" I raise an eyebrow.

"That's where he's coming from. There was a conference going on there." Plutarch explains.

"Okay, okay. So are we ready?" Haymitch says impatiently.

Plutarch taps into his earpiece, saying "Lower the ladders," and a second later, three ladders appear. Cato and I go first, and then Haymitch, Enobaria and Plutarch. The current freezes us all in place until we reach the hovercraft. It's strange how I can see the inside of it, but not the outside. It's like some sort of magical bubble has enveloped us and made us disappear.

"Here." Haymitch tosses me a bag, "Cinna gave this to me to give to you. Spare change of clothes, since apparently you don't liked to be dressed up. You can change in that room over there." He points over to the side, where I guess are the bedrooms.

"Thanks." I say, surprised. This dress is really nice, but extremely inconvenient. I'm glad Cinna had thought of giving me normal clothes.

Inside the bag, I find an olive long sleeved shirt, soft brown pants, boots, a bottle of serum that will take the dye out of my hair, and my mockingjay pin. There's even a note from Cinna, which I put away for now. The first thing I need to do is look like myself, not Kira.

I slide out the contacts and toss them into the trash. Then I spray the substance into my hair and slowly, the blonde color dissolves until I'm back to being brunette. I rebraid my hair to the side, change into my new clothes, and secure my pin into place. There. Now I look like me.

I exit the room and see that Cato has also changed back to himself. He avoids my death glare, which is surprising. Usually, he would be bolder and come up to talk to me. The last time this had happened, he persistently apologized to me three times.

But there's something else that's strange about him. The way he seems so lifeless, and averts his eyes to the ground, he's so much more serious. I wonder if he feels guilty. And then there's the fact that his hair isn't sticking up as usual and his muscled arms seen tanner and…

Hang on.

This can't be.

My breathing quickens as I rapidly think of what to do. Ask him? No, he would obviously lie. Tell Haymitch? He wouldn't believe me. Physically beat him up and get the truth out of him? Like that would work…

There's only one way to figure him out, and that's to trick him. He wouldn't know everything, would he? And although I hate him at the moment and the last thing I want to do is talk to him, this is the only way to know for sure that I'm right. Of course, I'll have to do the questioning in front of Haymitch and Enobaria so they know too.

I steel my guts and decide to do it. "Come on, let's go." I say to him, and wave my hand. He follows me back out to where everyone else is sitting and talking about Thirteen. I take a seat by Haymitch, and Cato sits across from me, still silent.

"So," I say, casually addressing him. "Looking forward to getting back?"

"Yeah," he mumbles.

"So, I'm guessing you miss your family a lot then, huh?"

Silence falls in the room as everyone curiously turns towards us. Enobaria is shooting daggers at me, Haymitch is frowning, and Plutarch is probably wondering why I would ask such an obvious question.

After the silence, "Yes."

_Wrong. Cato hates his parents._

Out of the corner of my eye I see Enobaria raise her eyebrows in disbelief, and Haymitch next to me clear his throat awkwardly.

"And Carter, your brother?" I continue, "I'm sure he's excited."

Hesitantly, "Yes."

_He doesn't have a brother._

He's Dale. He has to be Dale. He tricked us! But I contain my anger. I can't stop now.

"I'm sure you had fun playing 'Cato', didn't you?" I say icily.

"Yes." And right after he says it, his eyes darken in anger and shock, and he purses his lips tightly. But it's too late. He's slipped up, and now we've all heard the truth.

"He's Dale! This isn't Cato!" I accuse, pointing at a now worried looking Dale. "We have to go back, we have to get Cato!"

But wait, why do I want to go back for him? He's just a liar and a cheater. Still, it's wrong to leave him. And something tells me that Dale didn't just trick us, he tricked Cato.

"Sweetheart," Haymitch says anxiously, "We can't—"

"Cato is back in the Capitol, Snow is going to find out that I'm missing but not him, and who knows what he'll do to him!" I exclaim, shrugging Haymitch's hand off my shoulder. "We have to go back!"

"We can't, silly girl." Enobaria growls, "Snow will arrive in less than fifteen minutes. It'll take us fifteen minutes just to get back." She's upset, I know it. She's baring her teeth like some angry, pissed off wild animal, and is now glaring at Dale.

I'm about to tell them to make sure he doesn't get away (not that he really could, since we're flying) but Haymitch is one step ahead of me.

"Handcuff him." He orders, and an Avox appears with handcuffs. Surprisingly, Dale doesn't move at all when Haymitch clicks them around his wrists. Maybe he knows that there's no point in him trying to escape now.

"You're going to tell us the truth, boy. And if you don't, it's your life we're taking from you." Haymitch threatens. "Now explain what the hell is going on."

For a moment, Dale just stares at us. And then he breaks into a leering grin.

"Really slow, aren't you, _Fire Girl?_" He says in a mocking tone. His voice is cold, even worse than Cato's with no hint of playfulness at all.

And then he begins to explain everything. He isn't ashamed, he isn't afraid to tell us, he doesn't care at all. He tells us everything.

"Kira and I were never on your side. We work for ARO, the Anti-Revolution Organization, if you don't know what that is." He says. "We knew your stupid plan all along, and were purposely put along your path so that we could mess it up."

"I don't get it." I say, narrowing my eyes, "Why take Cato?"

"The original plan was to take you. When we got the news that Snow was to arrive early, we were supposed to leave you out of the notification. But somehow, Haymitch got around to telling you. It was supposed to by _my_ job to 'tell' you, which I never would have really done."

"So you're saying that if I never reminded Katniss about leaving early, she would have never known?" says Haymitch in disbelief.

"Nope." Dale shakes his head. "Then, I was supposed to drug her with this special drink that Kira and I had smuggled in. But we had to change our plans, since Katniss was let in on the time change. Plus, we figured it would be easier for Kira to distract Cato, due to their..history." Dale smirks. "She gave him the drink, and dragged him to the closet so no one would see him pass out. She had a good time with him, too." He rolls his eyes.

So that's what happened. Kira took advantage of Cato while he was in his half-drugged state. And the whole time I thought Cato willingly wanted to be with her. I was wrong.

"Oh, and that song? Totally not me," Dale adds.

The song. Cato had sung it? That was _him_? So that means he wasn't singing to Kira, he was singing to me. He had dedicated a song to me. I can't help but smile a little, but then I remember that he isn't here. In fact, I left him there. I hadn't known it wasn't his fault, but still, I left him.

"I can't believe…" I shake my head. That isn't what I should be worried about. "So Cato is passed out in some closet right now back at the Benita?"

"Actually," Dale tilts his head and grins, "Kira is going to 'find' him, and turn him into Snow. He'll decide what to do with Cato from there on out."

"No!" I immediately say. My throat seems to go dry, slowly closing up. "He can't." I whisper, shaking my head.

This can't be happening. Cato should be here next to me right now. It's all Dale and Kira's fault.

That's why I lunge out at Dale, fingers outstretched and nails barely raking his eyes out before Haymitch grabs me and holds me back. I fight against him, cursing, but he won't let me go.

"Katniss, stop it. Katniss!" he says frustrated.

"Let go of me, Haymitch!" I demand, but he won't. Doesn't he get it? This bastard, this traitor over here just left Cato behind!

"Stop." He says again, "Forget about Cato, alright? The boy will be fine."

But even I hear the doubt in his voice. No one is fine when they're in the hands of Snow.

I suddenly just feel weak and tired and confused. My anger slowly subsides, the red in my vision disappearing as fear takes its place. What are they going to do with him? Surely, they wouldn't kill him.

Haymitch's arms relax and he let's go of me, still eyeing me warily. "Why do you care, anyway?"

Why _do_ I care? Because I need him. It feels so wrong without him next to me, without him holding my hand and telling me everything will be okay, and everything was just a sick cruel joke. I care because I..I miss him, and he belongs here with me.

But there's that part of me that's just too afraid to admit to everyone that I have feelings for him. It wouldn't feel right to tell them. Only he should know, and no one else.

So I whisper "No reason."

.

**AN: **There. Feel free to throw your virtual knives at me, or if you prefer going Thresh-style, then stones. Don't worry though, they'll only be separated for about three more chapters. And on that tragic note, have a lovely day, and please review!


	22. A New Game to Play

**AN: **When I had originally planned this fic, I had wanted to split it up into two. One would be about the Games and the sequel would be sort of like Mockingjay, the war, but much longer than part one. Then I changed my mind because I really see both parts coming together as a whole, since it all centers around Katniss and Cato's relationship. So consider this the beginning of Part 2. Enjoy the chapter!

**Katniss**

"Katniss! Katniss, you're back!"

The crowd shifts and parts for a certain little blonde girl, and my spirits rise as I see her jubilant face. Prim. I've missed her so much. I can't believe I'm actually seeing her again!

I open my arms and she runs into them, squeezing my tightly.

"I've missed you, little duck." I tell her, a grin forming across my face.

She laughs and says "Me too. I'm so glad you're back, though. And alive!"

"Of course I'm alive, silly. I told you I'd win. You know I never lose," I tease. I bite my lip and keep from adding "Only with the help of Cato."

I let go of her and notice how much she's grown. When I left her, she seemed like a little ten year old. Now she's so much more mature. The past month that she's had to spend alone, the independence, having to care for herself, it's all made her into such a beautiful and strong teenager.

"Katniss.." Another voice says. I turn and see my mother, who has a sort of proud yet distant look on her face, as if this were all surreal. Even though her blue eyes still look a bit glazed, they don't look as distant as they used to be.

"Mom was really great," Prim said hurriedly, "She made dinner for me every night, and would watch the Games and try to stay up to watch over you too and—"

I don't need any more of Prim's encouraging comments, I know she did a good job taking care of Prim. I pull her into a hug too and find a tear rolling down her cheek.

"Hey, it's alright mom." I say, looking her in the eye. "I'm back. Nothing's gonna happen, I promise. We're all safe."

"I know, Katniss," she says smiling, "I'm just happy."

It feels so comforting to know how much they've both changed, and now that I'm finally back, they're happy. Truly happy. I feel so loved, it's dreamlike. After spending a month in the Capitol, wondering when I would see them again, I'm finally here with them.

"Hey, Catnip," another voice behind me says.

I instantly turn to the voice and smile widely when I see Gale. I run over to hug him too and feel the familiar warmth of his arms and a smoky scent when he embraces me.

"Whoa there Kat," Gale chuckles, "Someone's a little happy."But I can hear in his voice how pleased he is too. "I knew you'd make it out. Didn't I tell you?"

"Yeah, I just didn't believe you." I say, pulling away, "Things are always easier said than—"

"I know, done," says Gale, "But you did it, Katniss."

He looks so proud of me in this moment, I can't bring myself to mention the fact that Cato had saved me innumerable times, and he's the main reason why I made it out of the arena alive. I sigh a little. I can't think of Cato, not now. I know it's too late though because he's already invading my thoughts. My excitement is beginning to wear down. The cold, hard truth hits me once again—he isn't here like he should be.

"You've changed, though," he notes, taking a step back to look at me. "You look worried."

I am worried. I can't tell him, though. I just can't. He'll find out soon enough anyway.

I shrug, "I'm fine, really. Just a little tired." I try for a smile, and it seems to work.

Gale relaxes, "Okay then. If you say so. Come on, Coin will probably want to see you."

"Who?"

"President Coin," he explains, "She runs Thirteen. She's a bit strict at first, but you'll get used to her. There's so much going on right now," his eyes light up in what I assume to be delight. He's talked about this rebellion so many times before, now it's as if his dreams are suddenly becoming true. "You have a lot of catching up to do."

"And..Twelve?" I say, not daring to raise my hopes up. "Is it completely obliterated, like they say?"

While on the hovercraft, Plutarch had finally decided to explain what was really going on. He said that he didn't want to tell us while we were in the Capitol, because all the information wasn't supposed to be spoken about there. Especially when people could easily eavesdrop and find out our true intentions. So he told me that the Capitol had bombed Twelve, but luckily, there were many survivors. They fled to Thirteen, which is why I'm here now.

I was initially shocked, then devastated. My home was gone. Even though there were many survivors and the people I loved were safe, there was still the whole idea of losing the place I had grown up in. Not that I had many fond memories of it. Most days were filled with hunger and longing and watching people suffer.

Gale's shoulders sag a little, and he grimaces "It is. It's all gone. Sorry, Katniss."

"I know. I should be thankful, though. You all are here, I'm here, we're finally together again," I manage another smile.

He looks at me with a strange expression for a moment, but shakes his head. "Let's go. They're all waiting for you."

I say goodbye to Prim first, promising her I'll come by my new compartment later. Then I follow Gale to the command room, where apparently Coin holds meetings.

Thirteen is huge. There are so many floors, I could easily get lost. Although this is the safest place for me in Panem at the moment, everything here is eerie. Artificial. I feel like tons of earth and bricks are above me, suffocating me and about to crumble down on top of me.

It'll take a while for me to get used to this.

When we reach the "Command", I realize that this isn't some personal welcome between me and Coin like I had expected. It seems as if she's gathered a whole meeting. The room is filled with strangers I don't really know, though I recognize a few. Surprisingly, some past victors of the Games are here. Finnick Odair, gorgeous as always, who winks at me. Johanna Mason, who only rolls her eyes at me. Beetee, who peers at me over his glasses curiously. Haymitch and Enobaria of course, and some other victors whose names I don't remember.

"Miss Everdeen, Welcome." A voice from the front of the room speaks. I look up and see a woman with silver hair, ending crisply at her shoulders. She has a stern look on her face, not looking very welcoming at all.

I nod my head slightly, "Hello, President Coin." I figure she isn't the type of person to react too dramatically over anything, so I'm unsurprised when she only smiles tightly back.

But other people in the room seem to be more interested. A younger boy, about 14 with golden hair and an inquisitive look, openly stares at me. Johanna stares at me as well, though she seems to be scowling all the same. And a pair of sea-green eyes who can only come from Finnick linger on me a bit too long.

It's strange to finally meet all these people in person. They were like celebrities when I watched them on TV, but now they seem like normal people. Maybe it's how they feel like right now. Like they finally get to meet the infamous Girl on Fire, but they're disappointed to find that I'm just a girl. A skinny, malnourished, regular seventeen year old girl who has no idea how to lead a rebellion.

I tug at the end of my braid during the awkward silence. I feel like I'm some sort of prize or animal, and they're all studying me. There's not much about me to figure out, really.

"Where's Cato?" A voice finally speaks, and I'm surprised to find that it's the blonde boy. He's probably the youngest person in the room.

At the mention of his name again, my heart sinks to my stomach. All eyes are now on me. "He's…" I swallow hard, hoping not to sound emotional, but the clenching feeling in my chest refuses to lighten. "He's still in the Capitol." I say flatly.

Murmurs pass through the room. The boy furrows his brow like he's trying to figure something out.

"He should be with you, though. That's why my brother volunteered to help, because we wanted you and Cato to make it here safely."

"Wait, hold on," I say, letting the shock replace my confusion, "You're Dale Hendrix's brother?"

"Yeah, I'm Jeremy," he says, "My brother told me that he—"

"Why don't we save this conversation for later?" Coin cuts Jeremy off with a steely gaze, and he instantly shuts his mouth and nods.

"It is obvious now that Mr. Hendrix and Miss Marie have been working for ARO all along," Coin continues, "But today, we're here not only to welcome Katniss, but to decide the fate of Hendrix."

The way she says _fate_ makes me shiver a little. Surely she wouldn't have him—

But Jeremy states my question first. "You aren't going to kill him, are you?" his voice is just above a whisper, and he looks at her incredulously but also with fear in his eyes. I almost feel sorry for him. Then I remember what Dale did, and my sympathy vanishes.

"Dale has betrayed us," says Coin, "And for that, he deserves punishment."

"I agree with you, President," Finnick Odair speaks up, and we all turn to him. "But Jeremy is also right. You can't impose the punishment of _death_ on Dale.

"Then what do you suggest?"

"To keep him imprisoned," Finnick says. "We could get information out of him too. Judging from how good of an act he put on over the past few days, I'd say he was pretty valuable to the ARO. That means they would be giving him a lot of their information, just like they'd expect him to report back to them with information on us."

"Luckily, we didn't say anything to or in front of him," Plutarch hurriedly adds, glancing at Coin to make sure she understood. Dale couldn't have gotten any information from us since we never talked about rebel plans near him. I finally see the benefit of not being informed on anything while in the Capitol. It was for the best.

"I'm with Finnick," Johanna says, "Let's torture it out of him. Sounds fair to me." She smirks and ignores the horrified expression on Jeremy's face.

"There will be no torturing," Finnick pointedly replies, "Maybe threats, but no torture. We aren't the Capitol, Johanna," his tone softens and for a moment, and an unidentifiable expression crosses over Johanna's face. I wonder if she's ever been at the hands of the Capitol, abused and forced to take their cruelty. She sighs and mutters something about revenge but Finnick has turned his attention back to President Coin.

Coin nods in consent. "Very well. I approve of your plan, Odair. We'll have him taken down to floor Eight immediately." She types something into a device in front of her, no doubt confirming Dale's imprisonment.

Hm. Maybe Finnick isn't as bad as I thought. He's quite levelheaded for such a flirt, and Coin actually approves of his ideas. I wonder what he's been through to agree to be on the rebel side. It must have been pretty bad. He's practically treated like a prince in the Capitol, always getting whatever he wants. And now he's against them.

He catches me staring at him and raises his eyebrows. I instantly scowl, which Johanna snorts at while Coin's back is turned. At first, I think Finnick is going to make some sarcastic comment, but instead, he mouths the word _Cato._ Then he glances at the President, and I know what he means. Now is the time to ask her, if I ever want to accomplish anything.

She finishes typing and turns back to us. I clear my throat and decide to get this over with.

"President Coin," I address her, "Cato—Carleton, that is, is still back in the Capitol."

"So you've told me," she says, nonchalant.

"Could we possibly send a team out to retrieve him? He was meant to arrive here with me, anyway."

Coin stiffens and her eyes narrow by a fraction, "Miss Everdeen, though I'm sure you're…gratified for his help in the Games,"

_More than gratified._

"We don't necessarily need him to be here."

The reactions around the room are mixed. Some protest, others just sit there like me, stunned with surprise.

Coin holds up her hand to silence us. "Carleton is from District Two. His District will simply claim him back, and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Yes, we _can_," I argue, "What's wrong with getting him back from the Capitol? It's not like it's impossible, after all, you managed to get me out."

"Because you are the one who needed to come out alive," Coin says, her jaw set firmly. "Carleton is the least of our priorities at the moment."

"You can't just leave him! You don't understand, he wanted to be on our side!" I'm trying my best not to yell, but my voice keeps escalating. "He was _for_ us, not against us. You can't judge him just because—"

"That's enough," Coin says sharply, "Miss Everdeen, you are dismissed."

"But—"

She stares at me coldly, "That means you may leave now. I suggest that you go back to your room and get a good night's sleep. Maybe tomorrow morning your head will be clear, and you'll understand why we can't rescue him."

I only glare at her before turning on my heel and pushing out the door. I catch an apologetic look from Finnick, but I don't care. If he really wanted to help me, he would have spoken up instead of leaving me powerless.

Great, now I sound like I'm back in the Games, trying to get Coin to be my ally. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut to try to ignore that fact. Deep breaths. I'm safe. Safe.

Thirteen isn't what I had imagined, at all. Cato…why can't you be here?

* * *

**Cato**

A blinding white light hits my eyes as soon as I open them. I blink a few times, uncertain of what I'm really seeing. There's an aching pain in the back of my head like I have a hangover, and there's soreness when I flex my arms.

It only takes a second later for me to realize I've been chained in some sort of room. It's completely silent and I'm the only one here. My wrists are cuffed and bound behind me. I'm in a chair facing a mahogany desk. No one sits across from me.

Where the hell am I?

I rack my brains to try and figure what had happened in the last twenty four hours. It's as if someone had knocked me out and I lost all memory…no, wait. I _was_ knocked out.

Memories and sights and sounds come flooding back to me. The Masquerade—that's where it all began.

Kira! She had poisoned me with that drink she gave me! That must mean that I was left behind. _Fuck!_ Panic builds in my chest as I realize that everyone departed without me. They didn't even come back. Kira had intended to keep me here all along, maybe Dale was in it too.

But why? Haymitch said that we could trust them. Obviously they were working against us the whole time. So here I am now, alone, in some random place, and probably in danger. _Nothing you can't handle,_ I tell myself, though the confidence is definitely lowering by the minute.

I can't help but feel a slight surge of anger at the idea of being left behind, abandoned, _again, _as if that hasn't happened enough times to me. I shouldn't blame them, though. It wasn't their fault that I was left here.

There's the sound of a door opening behind me, and slow, steady footsteps. I try to turn and see who it is, but I can't, seeing as I'm tied to a chair. I hold my breath, hoping that it's anyone but—

President Snow.

"Hello, Cato." He says, almost casually as he walks around his desk and takes a seat in his leather chair, eyeing my carefully from his position across from me.

I make a good point in glaring at him resentfully. "Hello, President. Could I ask you what I'm doing here, tied up?"

He laughs harshly, "No need to ask, Cato. Just think," He leans in closer, his breath smelling like blood. "What do you think has given me good reason to suspect you of plotting against me?"

"I'm sorry, I don't understand." I fire back, and blink innocently for good measure.

His lips curl up in a sneer, "When I came back to see how the masquerade and the lovely pair were faring, do you know how shocked I was to find that one of the lovebirds was missing? _Katniss Everdeen,_" he hisses, "As well as her mentor, your mentor, and Plutarch, head of Communications, were all missing. People do not simply disappear. Now, tell me, exactly what happened the night of the ball?"

"Hmm. Well obviously, they all planned to leave that night, and have Kira and Dale replace Katniss and I. Except, things went wrong when we found out that Kira was a traitor, which is how I ended up here but Katniss in Thirteen. That good enough for you?" I say sarcastically.

I usually wouldn't have the nerve to talk back to the President. But he's really pissing me off right now.

He smiles coldly, "Though I don't appreciate your insolent attitude, Mr. Carleton, you have confirmed my suspicions."

"Wonderful." I mutter, but of course, Snow isn't done.

"I have heard rumors," he continues, "That the rebels are planning on attacking the Capitol by media. Have been informed about this?" he asks.

"No." I say truthfully. No one had told me anything about the rebels' plans at all. The only thing I was informed on was my escape.

"Well," says Snow, "This is a problem we must overcome."

_We? _Have I automatically sided with him, just because I was left behind? But maybe it's best that I keep my mouth shut, for now. I can't get on his bad side.

"And what are you asking?" I say warily.

President Snow pauses thoughtfully for a moment. "Do you know what happens when you sing in a forest full of mockingjays?"

The question throws me off because it's completely random, but I shrug, "The Mockingjays stop. They listen."

"Exactly," He says, "They listen. In this case, you and Kira will need to be 'interviewed' by Caesar, expressing how strongly you disagree with the rebels. You and Katniss are the most influential pair in Panem at the moment. When you speak, the world will listen, and the rest will follow."

"Won't that be too extreme?" I say, "I mean, one moment Katniss is showing the world how much she hates the Games—"

President Snow huffs angrily.

"And the next, she's supposedly all for them? Against the rebels?"

"Subtlety is key, Cato," says Snow, "I'm not asking for you two to tell the world what to do. That is my job, after all. I just want you to convince them."

"Sorry, but no."

His eyes narrow to slits, and runs his tongue over his dry, puffy lips. I wouldn't be surprised if he started hissing at any second. "I will ask one more time and give you one more chance to answer me. I advise you to think about this. It would be so easy for someone in your family to just get hurt by accident. Would you really want that to happen?" He tilts his head questioningly.

He knows that I know the true meaning to his words. It's obvious he could hurt anyone—he's just that powerful. Not that there's anyone I love enough for him to hurt, except maybe..Gaphne. She's the only friend I have and the only person I may actually be able to stand back in Two.

"No." I manage to say, though I try not to sound weak and desperate. I can't give him the satisfaction of instilling fear in me like he does to everyone "Good," he says, "Then I take it you're willing to participate in these interviews?"

No, oh hell no. But I realize that maybe if I agree with him, I might be able to gain his trust and have him think that I'm really on his side. That could do a lot of good for me in the long run.

"..Yes," I say, though I keep my face void of emotion. "Guess I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"Of course you do," he smiles condescendingly, "You always have a choice. But you're the one who must decide between what you think is right and what you think is wrong. In this case, Cato," he says, standing up and patting invisible dust off of his lap, "I believe you've made the right one."

I hold back a snort and wonder if he'll ever know how much I hate him. That I would never side against Katniss, no matter what he does to me. But if he wants me to play his game, fine, I'll play. That doesn't mean I'll tell him my true intentions.

I smile a bit at the thought of the interview. If Snow knew what was really going on in my mind right now, he'd be horrified and probably lock me up before killing me with some mutts. The interview is the perfect opportunity, it's just what I need, even if I'll probably be punished afterwards…

Well, game on, Snow.

.

**AN: **Hmm, I honestly forgot what I was about to say. How about a lovely review to make my day?


	23. Go Bold

**Katniss**

I awake to the sound of humming and allow a lazy smile to cross my face. It's been a while since I've heard music. For a brief moment, I close my eyes again and allow myself to imagine that it's back to the old days—when I would wake up on those summer days next to Prim, with no worries at all except for wondering if I could join my father on his next trip to the woods.

But he's dead, and I'm not at home.

I stuff the thought away and force my eyes open again. My bedroom is completely grey and it feels incomplete, even with Prim happily humming away in the corner, organizing a few things for me. Not that I had anything to bring along with me from the Capitol anyway. It's just so…empty now. There's a weird hollow feeling I get in the pit of my stomach, probably because of yesterday.

I sigh and wearily rub my forehead, grumbling quietly. Coin rejecting my idea yesterday didn't make things better. Was she that worried about Cato and where his true intentions were? He would never side _with_ the Capitol, would he?

Prim looks up when she hears me and she grins brightly, "You might want to get used to waking up earlier around here. You actually get a _schedule_, you know."

I frown, a schedule? Is Coin seriously that focused on keeping me busy? "You should have woken me up, then," I scold, "Now she'll probably dish out some punishment because I was late for whatever she wanted me to do."

Prim shrugs apologetically, "Well, at least it's your first day, you should be fine," she reasons.

"Sure, if you think that strict old hag will excuse me," I mutter, sitting up in bed. My head feels a bit woozy. I shake it a little, hoping it will go away. The last thing I need today is a headache, if I want to try and convince her again. "Anyways," I add, "I don't think I made a very good first impression."

"She likes you, don't worry," Prim reassures me, "It just might take some time. You're the Mockingjay after all. She'll have to like you if she wants this all to go well."

I smile at her, how can she always sound so positive? It's as if she's some little ball of sunshine, instantly making my day better even when we're talking about a subject as unpleasant as President Coin's attitude towards me.

But something about what Prim said caught my attention. I'm the Mockingjay. I am the reason why most of this is happening. That must mean that somehow in some way, I have some sort of power, even if Coin isn't acknowledging that at the moment. She'll _have_ to let me have things my way if she wants me to support the revolution. I've already started it, anyway. It's obvious that what she really wants from me now is to encourage it.

"How do you think she would take it if I.." I pause, considering what I'm about to say. _Demand?_ No, she would never allow me to. She is the President, after all. "—if I make a deal with her? If I tell her that I will only help her if she decides to get Cato?"

Prim raises an eyebrow, "Personally, I don't think it would be that easy."

"Well yeah," I say, "But you're right, she needs me. Without me, the revolution won't survive. Without me, she can't get what she wants, and without me, everything will all just come crumbling down because the people won't have the person they need to believe in," I stop pacing and turn to Prim, who has a confused expression on her face. "Am I right?" I say.

She sighs, "Katniss.. you can't just tell her you'll bail if she doesn't save Cato. I mean, think about it. The only reason she wants you to be our symbol is because it's what the people want, and she's only trying to help them."

"Are you _defending_ her?" I exclaim. "If she really wanted to help, then—"

"I know how you feel," Prim interjects, "but you can't make this sort of deal. If you back out only because she says no to rescuing Cato, then you won't only be going against her wishes, you'll be denying all of us the opportunity of having you as… well, the Mockingjay."

Suddenly, I feel very childish and irrational. Prim's words seem well thought out, logical, while I sound like I'm just throwing a fit. She's right, though. Coin doesn't want a rebellion for her sake. She wants it for us. All of us. And I can't back down now, or else I'll look like a coward, or worse, someone who could care less about everyone else's freedom.

"Since when did you get so smart?" I mutter, and she laughs.

"I learned from you, actually, just seeing you in the Games and on TV," she shrugs, "Like how you had to stay strong and keep pretending that you loved Cato, just so you could stall until the plan was put into action. You just had to be patient," then she makes a face and shudders, "How weird would it be if the romance were true, though?"

"Um…yeah," I chuckle along with her, "Completely weird." I wince at my not too convincing words, but Prim doesn't notice. Her eyes are bright with laughter and she's shaking her head, probably imagining the thought of Cato and I. Together.

A small part of my brain whispers that the image isn't bad at all, in fact, it's what I _want._ I _want_ his arms around me once more, his cool blue eyes fixed on mine, and my name to be coming from his lips. Is that so bad? How would people react if they found out that I actually liked him and missed him?

Well, considering Prim's behavior, they wouldn't believe me. Once they did, they would check to make sure I hadn't gone mental, and then probably try to coax me into leaving him. That we don't belong together, we never will.

Unless I can get him back.

I bite back a reply about our chances together, and instead, allow a grin to spread across my face. "Okay, little duck. Enough with the teasing. Let's go."

"Wait, hold on," she says stopping me before I can head out the door, "You can't leave without changing."

"Oh, right," I say sheepishly, I had forgotten I was still wearing pajamas, "So um, what do I change into?"

She tosses me a plain, grey uniform. "Everyone has to wear them," she explains, "I know, it sounds weird. You'll get used to it though. Everything here is 'fair', or so they say," she mumbles afterwards.

I raise an eyebrow at her comment, but she only shakes her head. "You better hurry," she says, "Don't want to be late, in case anything important is printed on your schedule."

* * *

**Cato**

"Hello, Cato, good seeing you again," Kira greets, smiling at me as though nothing has happened.

It's all I can do to not punch her guts out.

"Kira," I say stiffly, "What are you doing here?"

I notice that she still maintains the perfect makeover she received a few days ago. It's still odd having to remind myself that she isn't Katniss.

She isn't _Katniss._ Hell, it hurt enough just thinking that Katniss was gone.

"Don't you know? The interview—I came to get you," she says, offering her hand to me.

"Why you, and not a Peacekeeper?" I say scowling, and deliberately shove her hand away from me.

"Oh, I didn't know you were so disappointed to see an old friend," she pouts, "But if you must know, good old Snow wanted me to talk to you before the interview."

"About what?" I snap, "I'm done talking to you, traitor."

If I've hurt her feelings, she doesn't even show a hint of dismay. She only continues to plaster that smile on her face. I know better, though. She's been trained to mask everything. She may even be better at it than I am; she could go a whole day without blinking an eye whenever someone insulted her.

"Now, don't call me a traitor," she chides, "You know I had to do what I did."

"And what was that? Drug me, kiss me, and then lock me up?"

Flippantly, "…something like that."

"You're pathetic."

Finally, she lets go of her mask. Instead of the bright smile, her lips curl into the familiar sneer and her eyes narrow dangerously. "Pathetic? So you mean to say that I'm weak?"

"No, you're worse," I growl, not bothering to push her away when she takes a step closer to me, "You're a coward, Kira."

She barks out a short laugh, and says sarcastically "Oh yes, I'm whimpering in fear because the Coal Girl is coming after me with her flaming arrows." Her expression turns serious once more, and she places her hands on her hips, "At least I made the right decision. I still have yet to figure out why you chose to go with them. The real traitors."

"They aren't traitors!" I spit out angrily, "Don't you get it? They're just trying to stop the Capitol from continuing all these Games!"

"The Games are what we _live_ for, Cato. Or don't you remember?" she says coldly, "You've changed too much."

"It's my choice to make, not yours," I say, remembering that Brutus had said almost the exact same thing to me as Kira just did. I've changed. But have I, really?

"Well what else is there other than the Games?" Kira says in frustration, "We've spent all our lives preparing for them. They mean everything to us, and you decide to side with the idiots who want to end them? Once they're gone, we'll have nothing left for us. The rebels will hate us. We can't afford to let the Capitol fall because that means that the Games will end."

"You seem to have rehearsed that little speech quite well," I sneer at her, "Has Snow been feeding you these lines to try and convince me to—"

"This has _nothing_ to do with what Snow has told me," she grits through her clenched jaw, "I'm trying to get you to realize that you've been completely…brainwashed! What is wrong with you? Since when have you wanted the Games to end?"

I pause when she tells me that I've been brainwashed. Is that even true? Has all the rebellion talk actually made me change my mind? I hadn't even realized how true I used to think Kira's words were. Used to. Now, they just seem dumb. Why would I support a Game so much if it was intended to kill children? My pride and loyalty to training suddenly seems worthless. It can't possibly be placed above saving lives.

But in the moment that I've paused to think, Kira's expression has changed, the gears turning in her head and her eyes burning holes into mine with a dangerous glint.

"Don't tell me that it's Coal Girl who has changed you so much," she says, looking disgusted, "I knew there was something going on between you two, from the moment she walked in on us at the masquerade. She looked so hurt," Kira tilts her head, studying me and smirking, "She likes you a lot, doesn't she?"

I groan inwardly, "Shut up," I mutter, trying to change the topic, "Didn't you have something else to say to me? Something Snow actually wanted you to tell me?"

She ignores me, "Oh, now Cato, _please_ don't tell me you return these feelings? For her?" Her words seem completely innocent, but her murderous eyes are narrowed in angry slits.

For a moment, the thick tension is suspended, but I manage to snap back "I said shut up! There's nothing between us! You're going delusional now," I glare at her, "Now do whatever you came to do and let's get the interview over with."

She's still looking at me in disbelief mingled with confusion, and I'm about five short breaths from knocking her out in hopes of her forgetting this conversation when she finally speaks.

"Snow said that nothing has changed since the last interview you had with her," she finally says, still eyeing me suspiciously, "So when Caesar asks you about your opinion on the current state of the country, you're to say that you can't believe the amount of damage being done in all the Districts, and that there is no need for the rebellion. We should be perfectly happy and thankful for our lives. If we continue to fight, everything we lead back to the Dark Days. You don't want to ever have to leave me, you certainly don't want the war to tear us apart."

_It's too late for that._

"Maybe you should be the one who says it, since you agree so much with it," I growl in response, but she just gives me an impassive look.

"I have enough on my part, the only thing left to do is see how good your acting skills are."

At this I nearly choke. How am I supposed to act like I'm in love with Kira? I hate her. I hate her so fucking much I wouldn't mind it if she just _died_ right now. Preferably by something painful, like getting torn apart by reptilian mutts.

"What's wrong?" she says innocently, and cocks an eyebrow, "A bit rusty on your skills, Carleton?"

"Let's just get this over with," I decide, and shove her out of my way as I leave my room. I can feel her smirking behind me, like she's plotting my demise with every step she takes. It takes all I can muster not to lash out at her. I take a steadying, calming breath as I walk. How is this ever going to work? If the first few interviews didn't work, surely this one won't, especially when the Districts are already so hyped and about to fully rebel.

I let my thoughts wander to my original idea; to speak my true thoughts on the subject. Right. Like that would ever happen, considering how seriously Snow is taking this. It had been a spur of the moment, reckless thought pushed on by the cruel words of Snow. It was never a good idea. Now, I have to actually pretend I care about the Capitol, pretend I care about the President's wishes…

Pretend I care about _her._

"Ready, Cato?" she gives me a well practiced, lovestruck gaze, and I don't bother to return it. Well, not yet.

"Just move," I mutter, and she pulls me out to the stage where deafening applause from the audience greets us. I didn't think there would be this many people.

"Cato, it's wonderful to see you again!" Caesar says turning to me first and treating me like I'm an old friend. I nod a little and shake his hand. Maybe he can get us through this.

"And Miss Everdeen, you look marvelous," Caesar cheerily says as he pats her fondly on the back.

He tells us to sit on a small couch that has been set up adjacent to his chair. They obviously want Kira and I to be as close as possible, and she doesn't hesitate when she pulls me over and decides to actually sit on my lap. A look of triumph flickers over her features, and I try my best not to scowl at her and shove her off of me, onto the floor.

Well, at least the audience likes this.

Caesar begins with a few basic introductory lines as usual, but everyone knows who we are. There's no point in wasting time. I can practically feel the anxious, impatient murmurs of the audience. They want to know the reason we're really here. Our opinion is all that matters to them.

When he finally does get to the point, he chooses his words carefully, as to not make any sort of suggestion that the people can get a hold of.

"Katniss, if I may, many of the people are taking your fire to heart. Your bold flames really are inspiring, and some see it as a sort of defiance. Is there anything you would like to share with us—"

"Oh, yes," Kira immediately interrupts, and Caesar looks baffled at first, but then pleased. "My stylist, Cinna, has been so amazing in creating such a simple element into a work of art, a beauty, really,"

_Beauty._ So that's how they want Panem to see it.

Kira's face turns to one of confusion now, "But I don't understand why there is such sudden…violence. In fact, the whole reason that I fought so hard in the Games was to return home to live with my sister, and return to the place I love. But what will become of everything if what you say is true, and people begin to resist…well, nothing will ever be the same," she says sadly, "And everything I've worked and hoped for will be for nothing."

Caesar gives her a sympathetic smile, "I agree," He says, "What can we ever accomplish by disagreeing with each other? Surely the struggle will be pointless and only bring us back to our history."

At this, the audience rumbles with either agreement or protest. Caesar's remark about repeating history must have really hit a sore point. The Dark Days were times that nobody wanted to remember or even mention.

"And Cato? How do you feel about this idea circulating around, that Katniss is inexplicably the reason for this sudden dissent?"

I suppose now would be the time to put on that fond, _lover_ expression, but I'm so sick of it. Maybe remaining indifferent will suffice for now.

"I hadn't given it much thought lately," I begin, and search for words that will convince the audience. "But I see why people are so keen on rebelling against the Capitol."

Caesar's lips twitch slightly at my blatant words. Well, no more circumventing. It's out there for everyone to hear now. This is a rebellion, not a "dissent", not a "struggle" or "disagreement". It's a rebellion that's out there.

"And your thoughts on the situation?" Caesar asks uneasily. Gone is the friendly-host attitude. The twinkle in his eye has vanished, and desperation and anxiety crease his brow. He must be worried about what I have to say next.

What I technically should be saying is how much I oppose it. I should be conveying the audience that the rebellion is an all-for-nothing act, and I would never support anything so brash. After all, it's peace and love and joy and the freaking Hunger Games that will keep our world stable and spinning.

But I don't believe it because it isn't true. Why should I be convincing the world about how beneficial the Games are, when really, they're destroying us all? They expect me to talk about how the rebels will bring down Panem. They want me to explain why staying loyal to the Capitol and President Snow will mean an unlikely reoccurrence of the Dark Days.

Well, fuck that.

"This rebellion…it's what we need," I blurt out, and the audience gasps while Caesar only stares at me in shock. Kira seems to have frozen up, and I decide that while everyone's silent, this is my chance to continue.

"They have a point," I turn towards where I know the camera is so that all the citizens watching this at home can see me and believe what I say is true. Well, here we go. Time to shoot for the truth. "And Katniss Everdeen is not here with me. In fact, she's safe in District Thirteen and needs your support,"

_Then who is the girl next to you?_ People all across the thirteen districts must be asking themselves that.

"She," I say jabbing at Kira and finally getting my chance to throw her a well deserved scowl, "Is Kira Marie, a District Two citizen who is pretending to be Katniss so the President can cover up. But don't be fooled. The real Katniss, the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay, is safe," I finally shake Kira off of me, feeling rather disgusted that she was on me the whole time.

It seems as if my words have finally triggered some sort of reaction. Kira jolts and turns to glare at me, silently giving me death threats. Caesar is silently and frantically trying to get my attention, and a few of the cameramen shoot troubled glances at each other. They must be extremely stupid if they haven't been able to stop me yet.

I turn back to address the camera, taking a gulp of air and steeling my nerves, knowing that people are hanging on to every word I say, "No matter what, you cannot give up. This must end, and it can only end with you. Don't be afraid to fall. Give it everything you've got, and in the end, you'll realize that all of your struggles and fight will earn you freedom from the Capitol," I gesture around at the lavishly decorated stage, and I can practically hear the truth sinking into every member in the seats in front of me.

There's a scuffling noise by the pit where the camera's are, and I realize that they must be shutting off the program. I rush out my next few words, making sure to have everyone fully hear them, "Take my word for it, and not the imposter's, the fake Katniss. This revolution is real. And we will _not_ stand for any more of these unjust Games the Capitol makes us play!"

Everyone is silent. Not a whisper passes in the room.

Somehow, my voice had turned out a lot more powerful than I had originally expected it to be. A satisfying feeling fills me at first, but then a sinking sensation in my stomach replaces it when I realize what I've just done.

Oh, fuck. What now?

Caesar hurriedly jumps in, his voice effectively booming throughout the auditorium, "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming—"

But his voiced is drowned out by the screams, protests, cheers and thundering of the crowd. Suddenly, it's turned into a big commotion. I'm slightly shocked to see how mixed their reactions are. Above all the screams, though, I can hear one voice hiss into my ear, "You're in for it, Carleton."

I whip around to find Kira only inches away from me, furiously staring at me. "What, can't handle a bit of rebellion, Miss Capitol bitch?" I mutter. It had meant to be a taunt, but I'm too distracted by the Peacekeepers marching toward me.

A velvet curtain falls, separating us from the audience. I can still hear their screams though. It's deafening and much different from the applause and cheers that I've been used to. For once, they're riled up. And maybe for once, now that they've heard the truth from their beloved Victor Boy, they'll listen.

Everything turns into sounds and sights and a rage of emotions as three Peacekeepers grab me by my arms. I snarl at them, trying to shove them away, but it's useless. They've already gotten handcuffs on me and are pulling me away, to who knows where. I stumble back a little and try elbowing them. No use.

"Stay still," one of the grunts, "The President wishes to see you, and we can't have you beaten bloody by the time we get there."

If it's a threat, it's a lame one. I could take them all on by myself, if only I weren't chained by these damn handcuffs.

As I'm being dragged away, I notice that Kira remains standing next to Caesar, and they're both still talking and rapidly exchanging comments. Caesar looks deathly pale for once, but Kira still has that haughty expression on her face. They glance over at me and Caesar nervously runs his hand through his powdery hair, shaking.

"Where am I going?" I demand as they drag me through a dark hallway that I've never noticed before.

They don't answer me.

"I said where am I going?" I shout, and this time, one of them jabs me with some sort of electrifying device, and jolts run through my body. The spasms last for about five seconds, and then afterwards, my body seems to go sort of limp. I glare at them with hatred.

He sneers at me, hardening his grip on my arm, "Want to ask again, Rebel boy?"

.

**AN: **Really sorry it's been so long since I've updated! But at least this chapter is longer than the usual! I know this is a really crazy time to update, but I have an exam coming up so I wanted to do it now rather than later :P What did you think of the chapter?

In the next chapter, you'll see President Snow's decision on what exactly to do with him, and Katniss going…well, true Katniss. Like, crazy-Girl-on-Fire-unstoppable-Mockingjay-Katniss, hehe. Please please please **review**!


	24. Cut to be Numb

Warning: for those of you who are really squeamish, there's a torture scene about halfway through the chapter. Just an fyi. If you don't want to take a lot of time to read it feel free to scan through and skip the graphic/violent parts :P

**Katniss**

"Why are we here?" I whisper to Gale. We're seated in a larger room this time, and Coin is clicking rapidly on her keyboard. A screen is projected on the large wall in front of all of us and everyone else speaks in hushed tones.

"Do you even _read _your schedule, Catnip?" Gale asks somewhat incredulously.

I shrug, "I guess I'm not used to following orders."

"We're here to watch the interview. It's with Cato and that girl…"

My stomach twists into knots and my mind blanks out as soon as he says "Cato". He has an interview? That must mean he's safe, Snow wouldn't have dared to touch him before an interview. Relief finally floods me.

"..and we're pretty sure the lines are Snow's—Katniss, are you even listening?" Gale asks, and I nod quickly.

"Yup," I say, though my mind is somewhere else as Gale continues talking. Though as I'm staring out into space, I realize that I'm actually staring at Finnick. He raises an eyebrow and tilts his head questioningly. I lower my eyes, hoping he didn't mistake my accidental staring for something else.

Coin clears her throat from the front of the room and I snap out of my thoughts. Gale abruptly stops talking and everyone turns their eyes on her as she begins speaking.

"In exactly thirty seconds, the interview will begin. However, I would first like to inform you that Carleton and Marie's lines are given to them by President Snow. You cannot trust whatever they say. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we're fed false information, so don't rely anything they let 'slip'. As you know, they're definitely going to be supportive of Snow's plans and the ARO…" she looks pointedly in my direction, "So this interview is extremely important for them. We'll only have to fight back harder afterwards with our own propos. My advice would be to pay close attention to what they way and see what we can use against them."

Most nod in agreement, then move their attention to the screen as it finally turns white. The bronze Capitol symbol fades in with the anthem playing in the background. _Special Interview: Cato Carleton and Katniss Everdeen. _Then, Caesar's famous voice booms as the cameras are switched on, and we see Cato and Kira seated together on the couch next to him.

A pang of jealousy and annoyance hits me. I wave it away knowing that I'm only being ridiculous and that it's all an act, but I still can't get used to seeing her with him.

The whole room holds its breath as Caesar begins speaking. The questions are simple and Kira's responses are exactly what Coin had told us to expect. They were obviously well-planned out and given to her by Snow. Cato's answers are short and to the point, as if he's trying to dance around the topic.

The whole time, I can't help but stare at him. Even though it's only the screen version and he's miles and miles away, I feel like he's really here in front of me. He looks fine. Healthy, even, though he lacks any emotion or persuasion in his voice.

I'm pulled out of my trance when he responds to another one of Caesar's questions, but this time, he sounds different and less hesitant.

"This rebellion…it's what we need," he says, and the room is filled with gasps of shock.

It takes about three seconds for me to backtrack, mentally repeat what he had said, and understand what it meant.

He's openly siding with us.

People begin to stand up to speak or protest, but Coin holds up her hand and silences them.

"They have a point," Cato says, "And Katniss Everdeen is not here with me. In fact, she's safe in District Thirteen and needs your support."

More protests. I can't hear them though. They're all blending together and my heart is racing. What is Cato doing? He can't do this! He'll be in trouble with Snow! I almost groan in frustration.

"_She_ is Kira Marie, a District Two citizen who is pretending to be Katniss so the President can cover up. The real Katniss, the Girl on Fire, the Mockingjay, is safe."

I watch as Coin's jaw almost drops, more angry words are being shouted, and Gale only tenses beside me.

"Katniss," he begins, but I shake my head, transfixed by Cato and his words.

"No matter what, you cannot give up." Cato turns back to the camera. His blue eyes seem to be staring right down into mine, and I shiver. He's talking to the people, but…he isn't. I know he isn't. He's talking to me. "This must end, and it can only end with you. Don't be afraid to fall. Give it everything you've got, and in the end, you'll realize that all of your struggles and fight will earn you freedom from the Capitol."

This time, everyone is more hesitant to fire their opinions out. They seem as mesmerized as I am.

"Take my word for it, and not the imposter's, the fake Katniss. This revolution is real. And we will _not_ stand for any more of these unjust Games the Capitol makes us play!"

The screen cuts black. Two full seconds of pure nothing, just stunned silence, and then,

"What was that kid thinking?!"

"Cato's on our side?"

"Ohmygosh I can't believe—"

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" (Enobaria, no doubt).

"That was amazing!"

"He totally pissed off Snow."

"There is no way—"

"Quiet!" Coin's sharp tone rings out, and everyone immediately silences. She takes another breath, still collected as always, "It is evident that…that Carleton is truly on our side. This was no act and I'm sure that you've found it obvious now he's trying to help us. Katniss, you were right." She looks at me, but I still can't respond. My tongue must have frozen up.

_He was trying to help us._

"But I'm afraid you do know the consequences of his actions?" she asks me, and I feel the twenty pairs of eyes in the room shift to me.

_That stupid, stupid, stupid idiot!_

"Katniss?"

I only nod, clasp my hands together to keep them from trembling, but my voice still betrays me as I let out a shaky, "Yes."

"Then you know that although I agree it would be best to rescue him, it would also be pointless," she continues calmly.

"H-how could you say that?" I ask, finally regaining my voice, "He just declared to all of Panem that he's on our side! He even tried convincing them to rebel! What more do you want, a treaty? He's risking his _life, _and you just want to sit back and leave him with the President?" My hands have begun to shake with anger and they're getting harder to control.

"I don't think you understand," says Coin, "My point is that we can't rescue him if Snow already has him imprisoned."

"Well we can at least try!"

She shakes her head, "It would be a waste in effort."

I abruptly stand up, my chair scraping against the floor, "Are you going to fight or not? Are you going to just sit back and think that the rebellion will just go along perfectly and we'll win? We won't _ever _win if we never fight!"

"I never implied that we weren't going to…fight back," she says, her voice clipped and her demeanour still composed, though I can see the small cracks here and there.

"Well then what are you waiting for?! We have to make the first move, we have to be a step ahead. Don't you see? President Snow _thinks _he's one step ahead of us. He thinks he's so clever, that he knows we're too scared to go and rescue Cato. If we really do go then we'll surprise him. We'll prove him wrong, and then _we'll _be one step ahead."

She stares at me, as though contemplating my words. In the renewed silence, I finally catch my breath and notice the reactions around the room. Most people are stunned. I wonder if this is the first time someone's spoken back to Coin.

Then, to my surprise, Finnick stands up as well. Then Johanna. Then the man next to her, and then the girl next to me, until most people are standing and staring at me with something I've never seen before. Respect.

"I'm with the Mockingjay." Finnick informs, and the others nod in agreement.

"We need to do this. It'll take Snow completely by surprise," Johanna says.

"Although," says Beetee thoughtfully, "We can't just storm the Capitol. We'll have to plan it out, it'll have to be more secretive instead of aggressive."

Coin narrows her eyes, "I haven't given anyone permission to do this. Finnick, Johanna, Beetee, please have a seat so we can discuss—"

"What more is there to discuss?" I ask exasperatedly. "We. Are. Going."

Another silence. Coin stares at me as though challenging me, and I gladly accept. A few people nervously cough but I don't break.

"Very well," Coin finally says, "If that's what you wish, Katniss."

The way she says my name makes me shiver a little, as if there's a slightest hint of loathing. No, I must be imagining it.

"But before any decisions are made, first, we'll have to take a vote. All those in favor of Katniss's idea?"

Almost everyone raises their hands, and the cracks in her composure seem to deepen. "Those in favor of staying instead of going?"

Three people.

Coin nods stiffly, "Very well, we have our vote. We'll send out a team in a week. Until then, Beetee, Boggs, Marce, plan the operation and notify me when you're ready. Katniss…" she turns back to me, "Congratulations. You have just initiated the first step in the battle."

* * *

**Cato**

"Snow," I say, wincing when the guard jabs me with the electrifying device, although the shocks are less intense this time. "President Snow," I correct myself.

Damn, he looks livid. He says nothing but only continues to stare at me, his face slowly reddening. The scent of blood is even stronger now and it wraps around everything in the room, including me.

"Carleton," he hisses, "Of course, it is obvious why you're here. You have disobeyed and disregarded my orders. Instead of denying the rebellion, you _rallied _the people. Do you understand the consequences of your actions?" His voice has lowered and it is so quietly dangerous, I can barely hear him. But his message is plain—the punishment will be severe.

I don't answer. I only nod slowly, mentally running through the list of possible torture methods they could inflict. Electrocution, burning, cutting, water boarding, the list is endless. I've already went through many of them, but the Capitol always manages to come up with new methods.

"Although these consequences are unavoidable, I will give you one last chance to declare where your true loyalties lay. The idea that the speech you gave tonight was a mistake is ridiculous, though possible. Maybe after today you will have changed your viewpoint."

Before I can open my mouth to retort that my beliefs will still remain firm, the guard unexpectedly blindfolds me and drags me away. Of course. Snow always gets the last word.

* * *

_**Three hours later**_

Fuck, now my arm is numb. They're dropping the temperature degree by degree, slowly, probably intent on freezing me to death.

I try to jump or move to get the blood flowing again but it doesn't work. My icicle fingers desperately try to work at something, anything, but there is nothing but frigid air.

That, and white walls. A white floor. A drain. The chair I'm sitting in and these damn handcuffs that only get tighter the more I squirm. They've already cut into my flesh and I finally resort to watching the blood drip slowly down my wrists.

I'm about to try my luck with cutting the ropes apart when the door suddenly flies open and three Peacekeepers stride in. Two of them I recognize as the guards who escorted me to Snow, the other is unfamiliar.

"Rebel boy," he sneers, "good to see you're still alive."

I glare at him, unable to say anything with the coarse rope in my mouth. He laughs harshly. "I'm only here to ask some questions and get the truth from you. You see, we need some information about the rebels." He gestures to the two other guards, and they tug the rope away from my mouth.

I take a gulp of air and spit, "Well you can fuck off, because you won't be getting any secrets. I know nothing."

"Oh, but I don't believe that," he says, his lips curling maliciously into a grin. "Of course you know at least _something."_

"No, I don't," I repeat.

His eyes darken a shade, and he furiously says "Fine. If it has to be this way, then fine." He makes a small gesture at the other guards and they bring him a white box, similar to a first aid kit. They step towards me with a strip of cloth and I'm blindfolded again. I hate blindfolds. I hate not seeing what's happening or what sort of danger I'm in.

I take a slow breath and steady my nerves. I can't break. They _want _to see fear, it's what motivates them, and I can't give that to them.

"Now, tell me what you know, or this," a sharp point digs into my skin, right below my neck, "Will have to be what forces it out of you."

Knives. How original.

"I told you," I grit my teeth, "I don't know."

"And I told you," he hisses, "I don't believe you."

He slowly drags the knife down, the tip slicing open my flesh and a few drops of blood splattering onto my chest. _It's not so bad, _I think, _I've been through worse. _But I know this is the beginning. He's barely started.

"What are they planning? An attack? Ambush? Where are their forces?"

"I don't know."

The knife digs in deeper, and I have to clench my fists to steady myself and keep back the pain. If I force it from my mind, there's less of a chance that it'll get to me.

"LIAR!" he roars, "You will tell me exactly what you know this instant, or we won't be playing with knives anymore!"

_Playing with knives. _I suddenly think of Clove and realize what her victims must feel like before they die. Defenseless and burning with the intricate designs cut onto their bodies.

"Nothing," I reply.

The knife twists into my shoulder and I let out a short hiss of pain. He chuckles in delight of having caused some sort of reaction from me.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" he breathes, chuckling cruelly, "It's what you get for being a traitor to the Capitol."

Another knife finds my knee, a third finds my left arm, and a fourth the back of my neck.

They all drag down at the same time and my body starts seizing up, though I'm trying my hardest to control it. It just…_fuck, it hurts like hell. _My legs jerk uncontrollably and more laughter fills the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing through the thick tension.

More knives. More blood. My breathing becomes heavier as I try to grit my teeth and just ignore the pain. I've been trained to bear it, master it, and like it, but it's been a while since the intensity has hit me like this.

"Tell me; who are you truly loyal to?"

"Anyone but Snow," I manage to gasp out, and the knives sink in deeper.

"Wrong answer!" he spits.

And then, the last chord breaks. Any control or sanity has flown out of me and all I feel are thousands of creatures clawing at me, cutting me open, dissecting me and slashing at my body. Maybe I'm imagining it, but the sharp pain is undeniable. Swords of ice twist through me, drawing out rivers of blood and slicing back into me with uncontrolled force. I open my mouth to yell, shout, curse, anything, but only a strangled and choked sound comes out.

"Not so powerful anymore, are you Rebel boy?" he asks, "You want to know what real power is? Real power is when you can do…this," he stabs down into my shoulder and a shudder runs through me as all pain turns directly to the spot the knife sunk in. He pulls it back out, and I can feel everything crumbling and breaking. Nerves, muscle, skin, blood, it's all fucked up now.

I pant heavily and listen to the laughs coming from the other guards. _I could kill them, _I think, _I could rip their throats out so fast Enobaria would be proud._

"I think this is enough, I'm getting bored. The boy refuses to speak." The head guard announces, "But don't think you're alright now, Rebel Boy. We'll be back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, until you're nothing but a bloody mess and heap of flesh," he threatens.

He yanks the blindfold from my eyes and light assaults me. Then I see their smug expressions, and the feeling of wanting to rip their throats out intensifies, but I'm helpless. I'm _weak._

They leave, still sneering and muttering scornful statements about the rebels. As they exit, however, another figure walks in. My vision is slightly blurred and I don't see who she is until she's next to me. A white uniform. Glossy black hair. A clipboard and bandages. She looks about forty years old.

"Cato?" she asks nervously. "Cato, can you hear me?"

"I—I'm here to heal you. If I don't, you'll die from blood loss," she gestures around helplessly. I stare at her half-confused. Why is she trying to help me?

"The-the president doesn't want you to die," she stammers, "Or else they can't…can't see you again."

Of course, if I die, they can no longer torture me.

"Please," she says, "Let me see your arm."

I let twenty uncertain seconds pass before I begrudgingly hold out my arm. I don't look at it. I already know how it must look.

Her expression contorts in fear, "This is…the worst," she murmurs quietly, "The worst I've ever seen." She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, "You'll be fine," she says firmly, and takes a cloth, wiping away the blood. I stare at her concerned expression the whole time, puzzled over why she actually cares and why she isn't taunting me like the others.

When she's wiped it all away, she gingerly dabs some paste on it before bandaging it. She does the same with all my other cuts until I feel thoroughly mummified and suffocated. My head swims for a dizzying moment before I blink back to reality.

"I'll be back tomorrow," she says with a somber expression. "Until then…" she sighs, "Have hope."

And she leaves too. The room is now empty and eerily silent.

Have hope? What the fuck was she talking about? There's no hope in here, she should know better. The Peacekeeper was right. I'll be tortured until I'm a bloody mess and barely recognizable. There's no _hope _for anyone, especially not me.

.

**AN: **I tried to make sure the torturing wasn't too detailed but I also thought some parts were necessary. The situation won't really lighten until a few chapters later, so bear with it for the moment and eventually Katniss' plan will be set in action! Anyway, **review** please!


	25. Ringing Silence

**AN: **Hello again! Hope you all enjoyed the holidays! I know my break went by _way _too fast, but it was nice while it lasted.

Just mentioning this because it might be confusing when you read this upcoming part, the Capitol symbol that is used is just the C with the crown on top and the circle around it, not the twelve feathered bird holding the arrows.

Oh, and I'm sorry about the last chapter. I know a lot of you are squeamish and the torture part was a bit graphic. As a warning; there won't be any blood in this chapter but there will be more torture scenes (just the first part). Yeahh that's all. Enjoy, and don't hate me too much…mwahahaha.

* * *

**Cato**

"_You're back," she says, her hand reaching out to cup my cheek. It's gentle and smooth against my ragged skin, spotted with swollen bruises. She smiles softly, "I knew I'd see you again."_

_The only thing I can choke out is, "You're really here, aren't you?"_

"_I am. I had to fight to have you freed. Every day, I missed seeing you, speaking with you, and…" She leans closer, whispering against my lips, "Kissing you." Her hands find mine as she guides them to wrap around her waist. I pull her closer against me and she tip toes slightly to close the gap between us._

* * *

I'm pulled from the dream when someone roughly shakes me. Of course, it's the same guard who tortured me yesterday.

"Back for match two?" I ask hoarsely. I try to stay confident but I wince when my head starts throbbing right after I speak.

"We both know you'll never win this," he leers, and jabs me with the end of his weapon. "The President sent me to ask you a question, and hopefully you'll answer correctly after learning your lesson from yesterday. To what side do your true loyalties lie?"

"Not the Capitol's," I say venomously, and the guard's face flushes with rage.

"Fine," he spits, "I was looking forward to making you suffer anyway, Rebel Boy."

He calls in the rest of the Peacekeepers and I search for the knives, but they carry something else instead.

"This will put you back in your _proper _place," he growls, lifting the lid of the box. I still don't understand what's inside until he pulls out some sort of rod with a glowing object at the end. I instantly feel burning heat and realize what they're doing.

"His shirt," he commands, and one of the Peacekeepers grabs me by the collar while the other uses a knife to slit open the front of my shirt. Not that it matters, it's bloody and useless anyway.

I steadily keep my eyes on the bright orange, glowing object, determined not to let the fear show this time. Yesterday I had failed. Today I will succeed. No matter how much the idea of branding repulses me, especially with the symbol they've chosen, I won't show them how I feel.

The guards rip off my old bandages where the cuts on my chest have mostly healed. The scars remain, but still, the paste the nurse gave me must have been of the highest quality. I'm surprised she didn't just rub some cheap ointment on me and let me bleed out.

"Demetra is too kind," the guard mutters as if reading my thoughts, and shakes his head with annoyance. He turns his attention back on the scalding hot metal at the end of the rod and grins wickedly again. "But I'm here to make sure you don't think you're off the hook. This," he waves the searing symbol in front of my face, "Will show everyone who you really are, won't it? It'll mark you as one of us, the side you really belong on."

"You can mark me with whatever you want," I reply coolly, "But you won't change my opinion."

He snarls angrily and without warning, slams the scorching iron onto my chest.

At first, I don't even feel anything. The pain is so intense I see white, but then…

I bite my lip hard enough that I taste blood, clenching my fists and looking anywhere but at the metal burning into my chest. _Fuck! _My breaths become shakier but I withhold any sort of noise. _I'll kill them. _My arms start trembling and I catch a whiff of burning flesh. My eyes start burning too, prickling, and I will myself not to fucking _cry _no matter how painful it gets.

It only intensifies.

The pain assaults me from everywhere but only seems to focus on that one point on my chest. Fiery, burning hot metal pushes through my being, making me feel like the sizzling sun itself is being driven through me.

Laughter, cursing, and jeering are the only things I hear. Red is the only thing I see. Smoke the only thing I smell. Blood the only thing I taste. Fire the only thing I feel.

Fire. Somewhere in the back of my screaming, dysfunctional mind, I laugh and wonder how Katniss would react. Are we equals now that we've both been touched by fire?

Finally, the sensations start to fade away. They jerk the iron from my chest and seal it back into the box, vicious grins on their faces. They look like they've triumphed. I look down and notice the perfectly branded Capitol symbol on my chest. It's…blackened, and the skin has been charred. I don't feel anything.

"Want to change your answer to my question now?" he breathes cruelly.

A defiant "Hell no."

Enraged, he gets up and slaps me, putting as much force into it as possible. Warm blood spills down and somehow I figure my nose must be broken.

"We'll break you, no matter _what it takes,_" He informs me, features still contorted in fury, "You will be on our side if it takes me a day, a week, or a month. My victims always are. Demetra!" he bellows, and the anxious nurse rushes in from the hall. "Treat him, but leave the burn. It needs to stay."

She nods quickly, and with a final grunt the head Peacekeeper leaves with his two helpers.

Once they've left, she lets out another sigh before wiping the blood off of my face. "I'm sorry," she whispers, shaking her head, "But I have to listen to them. If I don't, they'll punish me too."

She fixes up my nose, applies some more cream on my old cuts, and gives me a pain reliever that I decline. Maybe the pain can keep me alive. Keep me sane.

"Look, the only reason you don't feel anything is because your nerves have been damaged," she explains, "But trust me, it's best if you take it anyway."

Hesitantly, I take the pill from her and swallow it down with a glass of water she gives me. The second after I gulp down the water, I realize that it tastes suspiciously bitter.

"I put in some other medication to help with the burn," she whispers quickly, "Since it's so severe, you'll need it so that it doesn't get any more damaged. The scar, though, will remain permanent."

"And the guards?" I ask.

"They'll never know," she replies. "As long as they see the scar, they'll be satisfied."

I nod, almost gratefully, and hand the glass back to her. A thought suddenly hits me. "Why are you helping me?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean," my voice sharper than I had intended it to be, "Why are you trying to help me when you don't have to?"

She shifts uncomfortably before responding, "I…maybe because…I owe it to you," she sighs. Then, she dejectedly slumps her shoulders and clasps her hands together, a tear streaming down her face. "It's my fault, really, it is, and I'm such a fool!"

I stare at her, stunned by the outburst. "What did you do?" I say suspiciously.

"I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life—I told my son to work for the ARO," she confesses, "And…one thing only led to another…soon he became a spy for them and…."

"Do I know him or something?" I ask, "Is he from Two?"

"Yes, you do know him, he's…" she falters, giving me a helpless look, "Dale. Dale Hendrix."

* * *

**Katniss**

"Katniss!"

"Mmm, go away" I grumble, burying my face in my pillow to block out the shrilly voice.

"Katniss!" Effie repeats, astonished, "It's already seven twenty-nine! if you are not fully awake and ready to go in ten seconds I will personally pull you from that…" she shudders, "horrid heap of blankets."

I crack an eye open, turning to face her. Deprived of her Capitol clothing, wig and makeup, she almost looks normal. Except she's still managed to creatively twist her issued clothing in some hideous fashion.

"Fine," I finally say, "I'm up."

"Good," she sniffs, "You're far too lazy, Katniss. Now come, Cressida is waiting!" she says with a quick motion of her hand, and I roll my eyes before dragging my feet to follow her.

"Why would Cressida be waiting for me anyway?" I wonder curiously, "Wouldn't Coin be the one waiting on me?"

"And why would you say that?" Effie places her card under a scanner before stepping into the elevator. I also enter.

"Well she can't exactly have the meeting without me," I say agitatedly, and Effie laughs.

"Meeting?"

"Yes," I draw out the word slowly, "that's where I'm going, right?"

Effie shakes her head, "Of course not! You're going to see Cressida to film the commercials!"

I stare at her blankly, "The propos? _Now?"_

"Well I don't see why not," she scoffs as the elevator doors open. "Anyway, you're long overdue for a good makeover."

"What?!" I exclaim, "I'm supposed to meet with the others about the mission!" We stop in front of another door, and Effie scans her card once more, "Not filming!"

"Oh, hush," she says exasperatedly, "Coin was the one who had decided that you should do the propos first. _I _didn't make the decision!"

She opens the door, and I'm greeted jovially by Plutarch, Cressida, Messalla, my prep team, and a few others I don't recognize.

"Plutarch?" I ask, "Shouldn't I be meeting with Coin? Yesterday after watching the interview," ("Oh, it was _spectacular!" _Effie comments brightly) "I…I thought they would want me there." I realize afterwards how much I sound like a petulant child, complaining that I'm about to be dressed up instead of discussing rescue plans.

"Oh, believe me; she's right when she says it's best if you remain here with us. Don't you realize that you're much more effective when you're on screen?"

"Yes, but—"

"I don't want to hear it," he says firmly, and pushes me towards my prep team who all pet me fondly. "You three, you know what to do?"

"Yes," Flavius nods, corkscrew curls bouncing, "Makeup, costume, hair. We've got it."

"Good," says Plutarch, "Have her back as soon as possible and we'll start then."

My prep team ushers me into a room and begins the process of bringing me to Beauty Base Zero. The whole time, I'm still fuming over the fact that Coin sent me here to do propos instead of the meeting. She must be _content_ now that I'm out of her way. She never seemed to like me.

An hour later, I'm finally done. They've put heavy makeup on me so that my eyes are smoldering and lined with black, orange accents the tips of my hair, and I'm dressed in a tight black outfit with bandages placed here and there, suggesting that I've been injured while out on the battlefield. I am given a bow and arrow as a prop while I'm "fighting". My Mockingjay pin is placed above my heart, and after a moment of silence where everyone inspects my appearance, they decide that I'm ready.

The set is hazy from the smoke emitting from hidden machines. It's strangely quiet, though. Cressida hands me the script, explaining that all I have to do is read the one line at the top as defiantly as I can. We can film the rest tomorrow.

"People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice," I murmur, repeating the line throughout my head.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Plutarch says, and I nod.

"I..guess so," I say unenthusiastically. It sounds like they're proud of it, like they've spent a lot of time coming up with it. I personally think it sounds forced.

Cressida adds finishing touches to the set and when she's done, a hush falls over the room. She alerts me when the cameras start rolling. Even more smoke, if possible, fills the room and I fight the urge to cough.

I raise my bow above my head, shouting through the thick atmosphere, "People of Panem, we fight, we dare, we end our hunger for justice!"

It's silent.

A few hesitant claps, and then Haymitch's sarcastic drawl, oddly loud, "My, that was just _terrifying."_

I whip around to search for his face and find him hidden in shadows, behind the camera crew. It takes me a moment to understand what he's trying to say.

"I don't need your opinion, Haymitch," I glare at him and fling my useless bow to the floor.

"No need to get angry," he snickers, "But it's the truth. Sorry Cressida, Plutarch," he turns to them after taking a swig from his flask, "It's just not there yet."

Even though I hate him for insulting me and making me feel useless, I couldn't agree more.

* * *

I go up to see Gale first thing tomorrow morning, abandoning my filming schedule since Plutarch has to make some "adjustments". Haymitch was very…persuasive…and didn't hesitate to make his complaints clear. Naturally, Plutarch took the complaints to heart and decided to resolve the whole fiasco.

"What happened yesterday?" Gale asks, concern evident in his voice.

"I failed, miserably, with the propo," I confess.

He laughs, which makes me even more annoyed. "Yeah, I've heard."

"So are you going to tell me what Coin said yesterday?" I say.

"Well, we got a team assembled and went through plans. We're leaving in a few days."

"Who's going?"

"Just some people you don't know," he says quickly.

"And?"

"What do you mean?"

"Gale, I know when you're lying, who else is…" I trail off, looking at him thoughtfully. "You are, aren't you? You were chosen to go," I realize, "Coin picked—"

"No, Katniss," he interrupts, "I volunteered to go."

I stare at him blankly.

"You—you volunteered?"

"Yeah," he says defensively, "So? You aren't the only one who can volunteer. Trust me, I _want _to go. Wouldn't you?"

His eyes light up with a strange sort of desire that I recognize all too well.

"I mean, wouldn't you want a chance to show them what you think? That..that we have the power to do what _we _wanna do, too? I don't want to just sit back on the sidelines and watch as we fight, Katniss, I wanna _be _in this. Just think of all we could do and all the changes we could make!" he says suddenly turning back to me, taking my hand in his, "You understand, right?"

I can't help but feel empathetic. We were both the victims of harsh and unfair treatment from the Capitol, so why not fight back when we have the chance?

"You're right," I say, "You should go. Just promise me you'll be careful."

_I can't lose you too._

"Of course," he smiles, "I always am."

* * *

**Cato**

The days merge together in a slow blur as everything becomes a haze of pain and a strong refusal give in. I am always asked "To what side do your true loyalties lie?" And I always readily reply "To the Mockingjay's side."

They don't hesitate to inflict whatever punishment they see as fit. Some days it's bloodier than others, some days it lasts longer, some days it's both. Afterwards, Demetra always comes and fixes me up even though my scars will only be cut open again.

I told her it wasn't her fault I'm here, it's Dale's fault and she shouldn't blame herself, but she only gets even more upset when I mention him. I've learned to just keep my mouth shut and let her do the talking.

Around the sixth day, I'm jolted from another dream by the head peacekeeper. I'm physically exhausted and don't know when my body will finally just break down, even with all the medicine Demetra has been smuggling in for me.

"Good afternoon," I say, knowing that it irks them to see me so calm.

"What side—"

"Not yours," I interrupt, tired of the question but keeping my stare leveled with his, "The Mockingjay's, but never yours."

I brace myself for whatever new torture they've invented for me. Yesterday was a stream of high pitched noise that fed into my ear for an hour straight, giving me a headache and almost driving me insane. Even Demetra had a hard time deciding what to give me. My ears still pick up the ringing.

"You never learn, do you?" He snarls, "But don't worry. We've got something…_special _in store for you today." He and the other two Peacekeepers slice at the material binding me down on the chair.

"Get up," he orders, and I slowly do so. My legs are shaking like crazy and I try my hardest to keep them steady.

"Walk."

I take a step forward, then another, feeling the blood circulate through my legs. I wince when my ankles sharply protest and my knees ache from the barely healed wounds, but I manage to take enough steps so that I'm out of the room.

As I struggle down the hall, I try to listen to anything useful, any hint to where I'm going or what they'll do to me today, but their voices remain low so I only hear little snippets of information.

"…heard him muttering her name in his sleep."

A doubtful whisper, "You don't think he'll seriously forget—"

"Hush!" –something incomprehensible– "best if it's gone. How else will he agree?"

"I agree…tried everything…stubborn little bastard won't give in…"

We finally stop in front of another room, but this one isn't empty. There is a lot of hospital equipment, a table with sheets on it, and a doctor seated in front of a machine. Demetra stands next to him, anxiously fidgeting with a few charts and small devices displaying holographs.

They both look up sharply when they see me. Demetra fumbles with her clipboard, almost dropping it. The doctor clears his throat.

"Thank you, we'll take him from here," he nods, and the Peacekeepers exchange glances before leaving me.

"What are you going to do to me?" My voice sounds half-dead; flat.

The doctor eyes me skeptically, "Cato, we've been left with specific instructions from the President to, ah, carry out the operation without telling you his intentions."

"But you know them," I say warily, gazing at Demetra with distrust. She folds her arms across her chest and sinks back down into a chair.

"Yes, we do," she says quietly, "I'm sorry, Cato, but you'll have no choice but to comply."

"Now, this won't take long. We should be done in about thirty minutes," the doctor says briskly. He glances at his watch, "It's 5:00 so you'll be ready at 5:30. Now, sit," he says gesturing to the chair.

I take about three seconds to come up with possible escape methods. The problem is that there are none. I'm handcuffed, locked in and weak from my injuries.

Demetra's right; I have no other choice.

Reluctantly, I slide into the reclined seat. Two metal restraints instantly clamp over me— one over my chest and one over my legs. The metal is cold against the thin clothes I'm wearing.

"Uh…safety measures," Demetra says shrugging pathetically.

Escape is officially impossible.

I remain quiet as the doctor scribbles something on his notepad before picking up a tray of tubes and needles. He pushes a wire onto the side of my head, and another one on the other side. Then he moves some sort of device directly in front of my forehead. I figure that whatever they're doing must be a mental sort of torture.

Then it clicks into place. The screen, the wires, the notepads, the tubes.

"You're hijacking me, aren't you?" I say laughing hollowly, though I have no idea why.

The doctor looks up from typing on his computer and says, "No, we aren't."

* * *

**Katniss**

They left today. They left after three days of planning, planning, and more planning. I almost wanted to sneak onto the hovercraft with them but I'm sure Coin would physically kill me before I could.

"Gale?" I say in a hushed whisper. I tap the earpiece and hold my breath, waiting for his voice to come on.

"Yeah, I'm here," he says, and I exhale in relief. It's a miracle he got these things to work.

"Katniss, when I told you that I would keep you updated, I didn't mean that you were allowed to talk to me _every five minutes._"

"Sorry," I mutter, "Just wondering…are you guys sure this will work?"

"Positive."

* * *

**Cato**

Not hijacking.

Relief somehow floods me when I realize this. They aren't making me scared of my own memories.

Then, what are they doing?

He clicks a button and immediately, it's like a strong gust of wind is blown into my mind. The feeling is powerful and chilling. Small hands seem to be tugging at every corner of my mind, pulling me back and forth and around in circles and making me dizzy. I blink.

"..only a side effect," the doctor murmurs, peering at me over his glasses. I hear some more clicking coming from a keyboard, and the screen in front of me comes to life.

It's the video of my Games. Katniss and I are running from a wall of fire that's chasing us, looks of fear and determination evident on our faces.

The doctor jabs a needle into my arm and pushes down a clear liquid, and before I know it there's a fiery sensation flowing throughout my veins, making my mind feel…numb. What the hell are they doing?

I try to listen to what they're saying but it's hard to hear over the loud roaring of silence in my mind. Fuck, since when did it get so loud?

He injects something else while I'm forced to keep watching the screen. They're all various clips of Katniss and I.

Katniss…

Slowly, a fog-like substance begins to cloud my vision. I want to reach out and scatter it but I can't. The restraints are too strong to fight.

More needles. Clicking. Images. Pain. For some reason, the branded Capitol symbol on my chest seems to be burning. Maybe I'm imagining it.

A monotonous voice carries through the fog, "…Thirty percent complete…"

* * *

**Katniss**

"Hey, are you there?"

"Yeah," I whisper, "What is it?"

"We'll be there soon. Maybe five or ten minutes, I'm not exactly sure. Just tell Haymitch that we're fine."

I check my watch—it's currently 5:09. For some reason, I want them to hurry. Something in the back of my mind makes my heart hammer against my chest and I almost feel like they're in danger.

"Okay, anything else?" I say hopefully.

"No. Just…" I hear him sigh, "Don't worry too much about this. Remember, it's just a guy from Two. There's no need to get worked up over whether we save him or not, right?"

I stare down at my lap, blinking quickly. "Right."

* * *

**Cato**

One, two, three, four, five…

Have I gone insane?

Six, seven, eight, nine.

No, I haven't. I've been here nine minutes already.

My eyes remain on the flashing images before me and I squint at the two figures, trying to remember why I should care about them. It's getting harder and harder to figure them out, like they're complicated puzzle pieces that don't fit together, or like they're magnets that repel.

Six more minutes pass. More substances are injected in my bloodstream and things get hazier. I don't even wonder what is going on anymore. I might have momentarily lost the ability to reason, lost the will to care…

"Fifty percent complete."

* * *

**AN: **I feel like a lot happened in this chapter, but the main point is that Cato has been through hell and now Coin's group has to get to the Capitol on time. I actually have about half of the next chapter written up, so here's a preview (sort of) if you want to read it—

.

"You know what I'm saying," Haymitch sighs wearily, rubbing his forehead, "You can't fix this, Katniss. Do you understand?"

I stare out the small window, morbidly wondering how this ever happened. It can't be possible.

I shift my attention back to Haymitch and give the smallest of nods.

I understand. I don't exist as I used to. Along the success, there's still the empty feeling of dread that was brought back, too. Though he may not completely be changed, he'll live without caring for what we've shared.

I understand. But I can't accept it.

.

One last thing…**review!**


	26. Blank Pages

**Katniss**

"Gale? Are you there?" I ask for what must be the hundredth time, but no reply comes through. "Gale! Can you hear me?" Nothing but static.

I fling the earpiece onto the bed and groan in frustration. Why couldn't we connect? Are there some sorts of communication barriers in the Capitol? Are they alright? It's been _forever, _and I haven't gotten any updates.

"Damn it, Gale! Talk to me!" I throw my hands up in the air helplessly.

"Yelling won't do any good, you know," a voice says from behind me.

I turn around and see Finnick at my doorway, arms crossed and leaning casually against the wall. I jump off my bed in surprise.

"Finnick! Um, what are you doing here?" I tug at my shirt, feeling slightly insecure in front of him.

"I heard some screaming and decided to stop by," he says with an amused glint in his eyes. "So. What's going on between you and Gale?"

"What? Nothing," I sputter, "It's..I mean, it's not that."

"Of course not," he grins. "Sorry. Just curious as to why you're yelling at him through an earpiece while he's on a mission."

"I—I wanted to see if he was okay," I say.

"And I," Finnick says abandoning his post by the wall and walking over to join me, "think you're lying."

His sea green eyes stare down into mine through the darkness, and I swallow thickly. "You wouldn't know. It isn't any of your business anyway, Finnick, so why don't you go back to what you're good at."

"And that would be…?"

"I don't know; flirting with other girls?" I say grabbing at the first thing that comes to mind. I'm surprised when he remains silent and only tilts his head, questioningly.

"You make assumptions too easily, Katniss."

"That, coming from _you?_"

"There's a difference between being insightful and being stereotypical," he says, circling around me. I will myself not to look at him, and instead, I sit down on my bed and cross my arms defensively.

"What are you doing here?" I finally ask.

He stops and picks up a framed picture of me and Prim—the only picture of us I really have—and studies it. "I want to know why you're so insistent on the rescue plan, and why you spoke up against Coin when she declined your idea at the first meeting."

He places the picture back on the stand and turns around to face me, catching me with my mouth hanging open in surprise.

"I…you know why—I explained—"

"Yeah, well you explained it to Coin," says Finnick, "But explain it to me."

"What's the difference?"

He shrugs, "That's what I'm asking you, Katniss. I know a liar when I see one and what you said at the meeting didn't make sense. No one would just go through all that trouble to try to save someone they…hate."

"But I don't," I blurt out, "I don't hate him. I mean I did but—" I frown and backtrack until I reach the words I'm looking for.

"What I mean is," I say slowly, "Feelings can change when you learn more about someone. Cato—he's not a bad person," my voice falters, "I think if I can help him then people might understand."

"Understand what?" Finnick asks interestedly.

"Nothing," I quickly say. "Like I said earlier—it's personal. Anyway, why are you still here?" I add.

"Maybe I just wanted to have a talk with the Mockingjay," he suggests, an easy grin returning to his handsome face, "Since, you know, we haven't had a proper conversation yet." He leans closer, and I can smell something sweet on his breath. He inspects me with dazzling green eyes, "And what better way to start one than asking about a few secrets?"

"Sorry," I say coldly, "That won't work on me." I find myself slowly shrinking away, "I don't have any secrets to spill."

"More lies," he smirks, and touches my cheek softly with his fingers. I flinch at the contact and he laughs softly. "But we'll see soon enough."

**Cato**

Blurred shapes fill my vision. A haze of faces and assault of voices crash around me. I rub my forehead tiredly, where the hell am I?

"Hey, Cato? Can you hear me?" A voice asks. I blink and a face comes into focus. He looks about forty years old; grey hair but healthy with a strong build.

I blink again and look around my surroundings. I'm in a room that's dark and empty, with nothing but a few dots of light here and there. Unsurprisingly, I'm cuffed to a chair. Some tubes dangle off my arm and I'm bleeding in a few places.

"Where the fuck am I?" I mutter, and the man in front of me grimaces.

"You're in one of the rooms on the hovercraft," he explains, "But that's not important. I need you to tell me how you feel."

How I feel.

How do I feel?

"I don't know."

He gives me a puzzled look, and nods. "Okay. Do you want anything? Food? Water? Some—"

"I'm fine," I say, "Just…tell me where I'm going."

"District Thirteen, of course."

**Katniss**

"Why so curious, Finnick?" I ask, "Do you really feel the need to intrude on other people's lives? Feed off their secrets?"

"I usually find that other forms of..payment are less satisfying," he answers.

Payment. I scowl; I had almost forgotten I was speaking to a Capitol prostitute.

"Well since I won't tell you about myself, let's hear something about you," I say sarcastically, "Tell me, sweetheart, what delicious secrets do you have, hm?" I try my best to imitate his seductive purr.

He laughs, "Nothing that you want to hear."

"I really doubt that you're such an empty book."

"How so?"

"Well," I say, "First off, there has to be a reason that you're here. You wouldn't be at the center of the Rebellion for nothing. You wouldn't abandon your glamorous life to be stuck _here _out of all places. Second, you're far too interested in people's secrets. That's unusual. And then you help me with the whole idea of rescuing Cato…but you question my motives afterwards."

"You're wrong, Katniss," he says simply, "Everyone is."

"About you?" I question, and he laughs.

"You out of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover."

I wave away the useless cliché, "Stereotypes exist for a reason, Finnick. You know everyone sees you as some famous sexy playboy—"

"Oh, please,"

"So what makes you think that you're so different?" I demand.

"That, Fire Girl, isn't something you should be concerned about," he says. "All you need to know is that—"

"Katniss!" a voice suddenly cries, and Finnick and I turn to the door and see Prim.

"Yeah?"

"They're back!" her eyes shine with excitement. "Mom said I could help with the injuries so I'm allowed on the hospital floor. She said you could come too, to see Gale, so I came up here to tell you and—what is _he _doing here?" she stops abruptly when she finally notices Finnick.

"You're the Victor from Four," she states, scrutinizing him.

"And you're the famous little sister, aren't you?" he asks in return.

She nods vigorously, "Um, yeah," she blushes.

"They're okay?" I ask a little breathlessly. "Ca-Gale, I mean? They're alright?"

"Maybe you should go see for yourself," Finnick suggests. He leans down close to my ear and whispers "I'll catch up with you later," then turns around and winks before leaving.

The whole time, Prim stares suspiciously at me.

"What?" I say defensively.

"You're going to tell me what happened, while you and Finnick were in your bedroom…alone…" she mutters, "_After _we go see everyone."

* * *

.

"Kat!" a voice immediately calls as I enter the room. My heart sinks a little when I realize the voice doesn't belong to Cato; it's Gale who's calling me.

"Hey," I smile warmly when I see him, but the smile fades when I realize that he's injured. I rush over to his side.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he rolls his eyes, "Just a minor bullet wound—it'll heal soon."

"Good," I breathe out a sigh of relief. If Gale isn't badly injured, then everyone else should be in good shape too.

"Look, I'm sorry about the communication going down," he says, "The Capitol had put up some sort of barrier and—"

"It's fine," I interrupt, "I was just worried. So..everything went well?" I ask in an undertone.

"It was alright at first," he says uneasily. "We got in the building, no problem. It's just that…we all knew something was up. It shouldn't have been that easy. Cato was in the room with two doctors, and we kind of just threatened them and told them to give him up. They kept watching something on one of their screens, but I couldn't tell what it was."

"So?"

"Then, they just..they gave him up. I mean it would've been useless for them to fight anyway, but I didn't think it would be so, you know, easy. There were only about ten Peacekeepers that we encountered while we were leaving, and we got away before they could call for reinforcements."

I nod, "And..Cato is alright?"

"He, uh, looked sort of confused at first," Gale says, then mutters something incomprehensible under his breath. "We asked him a few questions but he was really quiet."

"They weren't…torturing him when you all got there, were they?" I ask.

"I'm not sure," Gale admits, "He didn't seem to be in any pain, though. Like I said—he was in some sort of hospital room.

"So do you know where he is now?" I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

"Over there," Gale inclines his head to the left, where a wall obscures my vision of the next room. "The healers are treating him."

The curiosity urges me to go over and see him, talk to him, check up on him, but I keep my feet rooted firmly to the spot next to Gale. I can't just stroll in and say that I'm worried about Cato.

"You should go," Gale advises, "I'll be fine." He adds when he sees me about to protest.

I look helplessly at his bandaged arm, "Are you sure?"

"I think I'm tough enough to handle it," he jokes, and I punch him lightly on the shoulder.

"Okay, I'll come by tomorrow and—"

But I'm cut short again when Haymitch enters, looking oddly stern and focused. "Katniss, you're needed in the next room, where Cato is," he says urgently.

"Wh-what for?" my heartbeat nervously quickens.

"You'll see," he says evasively, and I look back at Gale, who only shrugs.

"Let's go, then," I sigh, and follow Haymitch over to the next room. It's mainly empty except for a few doctors who are behind a glass wall, intently studying a screen in front of them and scribbling something down on their notepads.

I let out a small gasp when I see Cato; retrained on a hospital bed and looking…worse than I've ever seen him. He's lost so much weight that he's barely recognizable. His usual soft blond hair is a matted mess and his skin is marred with ugly, twisting wounds and old scars.

"What happened to him?" I ask Haymitch, "I thought that the rescue mission went _well_."

"It did," says Haymitch, "But that isn't what we're concerned about. We asked a few of the members on the team and they said Cato was in the middle of some sort of process similar to hijacking—"

"What's that?" I interrupt.

"Well, as you remember from the arena, Tracker Jackers inject venom that can cause severe hallucinations and confusion in their victims. Hijacking is sort of a form of torture when the venom is used on the victim's memories—"

"And why would they do that?"

"To cause fear and uncertainty," Haymitch finishes.

My stomach suddenly feels sick, and I know that whatever they've done to Cato will not be so simple to repair.

"But…you said they did something _similar _to hijacking," I say, "So…"

"We think what they've done to him is far worse," Haymitch continues, "Beetee says that the Capitol has been toying around with this new idea, of not just installing fear but also other types of emotions."

"Like?"

"Anger," Beetee suddenly joins us, and I jump a little.

"You'd think the boy had enough of that in him already," Haymitch mutters.

"Anger, resentment, memory loss, hate…" Beetee ticks them off casually, "The doctors were ordered to target the amygdala and hypothalamus, of course, resulting in unnatural, negative emotion regulation and—"

"So what does this mean?" I say, "That they targeted his emotions? How is that even possible?"

"It isn't," says Beetee, "No one can control your emotions but you, because that's what makes you a unique person. Luckily our team arrived just in time. The process wasn't fully complete, so he shouldn't be totally changed. The only question is—how changed _is _he? After all, it was an experiment," Beetee sighs wearily. "They used Cato as a test subject. The issue is all these variables—the timing, the venom, the rescue—we're just unsure."

"Well then…" I trail off confusedly, my mind reeling from trying to follow his thoughts.

Beetee sighs exasperatedly, "Katniss, I'm not the best at explaining things, especially when they have to do with health or science. I'm better with technology, but if you have questions you can always ask one of the doctors."

"Then why am I here?" I turn to Haymitch.

"We need to see what his response is around you," Haymitch explains, "You're the last person around here he talked to before he was captured—"

"You mean _abandoned_—"

"So he should still remember everything clearly."

"And all I need to do is talk to him?"

"Yes. Say a few things to prompt his memories of the arena, or his memories of being with you. And if possible, try to avoid speaking with him about what happened while he was in the Capitol, alright?"

I nod numbly and take a hesitant step towards him. His eyes are closed but he's conscious…just not awake. A sudden pressure and trepidation overwhelms me as I realize everyone is watching me, watching us. This isn't how I had expected to see him again—like an experiment in front of prying eyes.

I touch his arm gently. He's freezing cold and I almost want to wrap my arms around him to warm him. A muscle tenses in his jaw when I brush my fingers against his forehead, and whisper, "Cato?"

No response.

"Please," I say again, louder, "Wake—"

His eyes flash open and his hand flies to my wrist, squeezing it with a bone-breaking grip. He yanks me closer to him and stares at me with an expression I've never seen before…apprehension, disturbance, and detestation.

I choke in a gasp and try to wrench his hand off of my wrist. "Stop, it's me, Katniss!" I say. I rub his hand gently in a desperate attempt assuage his vehement reaction.

He only grips my wrist tighter and I cry out briefly in pain. "Katniss." He says, as if the word were new to him.

A voice calls out from near the doorway, and somewhere in the back of my mind I note that Haymitch is warning me to back away, slowly.

Panic rises in my chest but I shake my head firmly. "No," I say.

"Katniss," Haymitch growls, "It's too dangerous. He's unstable—"

"You told me to do this," I say steadily, "So I will."

I turn back to Cato and take in the sudden change in color of his eyes; a darkened storm blue. His pupils have restricted, and the rise and fall of his chest has increased unnaturally.

"Cato," I say quietly, trying my best to appear calm, "Please. Talk to me."

He says nothing, but blinks a few times in comprehension that I've said something.

"Do you…do you remember me, at least? Do you remember being allies in the arena?" my voice trembles when I speak.

He remains still. His gaze stares out in the distance, searching for something I can't discern and unfocused on what I'm saying.

"_Listen _to me," I say, "At least listen. I need you to tell me if you remember…the Games…or hunting down the tributes, or the berries, or filming, or the Benita or the Masquerade or _anything!_" I say, and my voice finally breaks when I realize that he still isn't responding. "Anything at all?" I whisper.

I count ten seconds. Ten seconds of unbearable silence when he finally looks back at me, and nods slowly. "Katniss Everdeen," he says. His voice is rusty and low, and I almost jump in surprise. His face pales, what little color he had left draining away, and he stares back at me with hostility. I cringe, starting to slowly back away.

"Twelve," he says. A slow smile spreads across his face, and for a foolish moment elation fills my chest and the deceiving temptation of hope stands in my way. But one blink, and it's gone, because he isn't smiling because of me.

He isn't smiling at all.

He's threatening me. I know the look all too well. I had seen it so many times in the arena, right before he was about to kill. It had to be amusement—cruel and sick feelings of torturing others that satisfied him and made him _enjoy _it.

"…back away now," the voice says, and all the reasoning and logic tells me that they're right. I have to leave before he hurts me…physically.

I look back at Cato and somehow he's lost the aggressive glare. It's faltered, leaving him look oddly vulnerable.

"Go," he says quietly, "Go away, before…."

"Katniss. _Now_." The voice orders.

"I can't," I say just softly enough for Cato to hear me. "You know I can't just leave you again."

A flash of anger returns to his eyes and his grip tightens once again around my wrist. "I thought I made it clear; I don't need you. I _hate _you and your fucking rebellion and the last thing I want is for you to stay. So leave me or I will find you, and kill you slowly," he breathes rapidly.

I blink in shock, slowly absorbing his words and his threat, "Cato, what are you—"

"Katniss!" A voice suddenly shouts, but I'm still caught unaware when out of nowhere a needle jams into my forearm. I yank it back instinctively and bite my lip from letting out a cry of pain.

"I told you to leave," Cato's hoarse voice says, and I stare at him in shock. His right hand is gripping the needle that was just firmly injected in my arm.

This time, I start to actually back away cautiously. "What have they done to you?" I murmur, clenching my bleeding arm with my left hand. I keep my stare locked onto his wild and unfocused eyes as a thousand arms seem to wrap around me and support me. Questions are being fired back and forth, though my tongue refuses to reply to any of them. A rough hand starts dragging me back towards the door. More voices. Cato only stares back with hostility and equal intensity. I repeat the words again, though no one hears me or bothers to answer. "…What have they _done?_"

* * *

.

I wake up in a separate hospital room and blink tiredly. More white ceilings and white walls, like sheets and sheets of crisp white paper that fill me with a desolate feeling. I've had enough of seeing them and I almost miss the lavish Capitol decorations.

Almost, but then I remember what happened to Cato, and I hate them all over again.

"You're awake," a voice says.

I turn my head and see Haymitch sitting by my side and rubbing his hands together patiently. "I'm sure you have questions," he grimaces, as if the thought of having to answer them is painful.

"Why—"

"Yes, I know. The 'why am I here' question," he chuckles, and I glare at him. He knows me too well.

"The needle that Carleton so kindly poked you with was just recently used on a patient with a highly contagious disease. The healers hadn't disposed of it yet and unfortunately, he had gotten his hands on it before you…well, _left, _like we told you to."

I sense a lecture coming, and shift uncomfortably on the bed.

"Anyway, the healers decided that you should get extra treatment just in case you contracted the disease."

He glances at me to check that I'm following, and I nod.

"Could you…explain what happened with Cato?" I ask, not daring to raise any hopes, or even suspicion, when I don't know what to expect.

"After we go over the fact that you ignored my instructions, twice," he scowls, "We aren't playing a game here, Katniss. I told you he was unstable—"

"I know, but I just wanted to see—"

"Your curiosity can wait!" Haymitch says, "What's more important is your safety, and we can't jeopardize it by having you near him."

"I was fine!" I say hotly.

"You call sitting in this room _fine?_" Haymitch shakes his head. "I need you to promise me next time, you'll take our advice and leave when we tell you to."

"Fine. I promise," I growl.

"And I don't just mean with Carleton, I mean with any situation. Just because you think you may always make the right decision doesn't mean you do—"

"Okay, I get the point," I interrupt. "Are you going to explain what the doctors said about Cato?"

Haymitch stare at me blankly, then shakes his head. "It's too complicated. You know that—you're the one who spoke with him."

A weight seems to fall onto my chest, hitting deep down at the bottom with a resounding _thud. _My body shivers in response. "How complicated?"

"Cato's lost a lot of his memory. Not all of it, since we rescued him before the process was complete, but a lot. He knows who you are but refuses to believe he was ever allied..or associated with you in a good way."

"So he _was _hijacked," I say glumly.

"Not really," Haymitch replies, "He was emotionally desensitized. At least, the positive emotions were somehow numbed. All of his feelings toward you are negative. Unfortunately, since you are a supporter of the rebellion, this is also bad news for us," he adds.

"There's treatment, right? There always is," I say desperately.

"The doctors haven't been able to come up with anything…anything for certain that will revert him to his old memories."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I'm saying," Haymitch sighs wearily, rubbing his forehead, "You can't fix this, Katniss. Do you understand?"

I stare out the small window, morbidly wondering how this ever happened. It can't be possible.

I shift my attention back to Haymitch and give the smallest of nods.

I understand. I don't exist as I used to. Along the success, there's still the empty feeling of dread that was brought back, too. Though he may not completely be changed, he'll live without caring for what we've shared, his world will be unaffected.

I understand. But I can't accept it.

.

**AN: **Sorry for the mega long wait! Last week was exam week and I was bombed with midterms and finals, so writing was completely ruled out. I hope this update made up for it (ten pages on Word!) And..uh, two words; have faith. This is a Catoniss story after all, so a lot of the chapters will be…erm..ratchet…like this one.

Thanks for reading and **review!**


	27. A Great Divide

**AN: **Thank you all so much for 300 reviews! I don't even know if this fic deserves it (I _really _should go back to revise part one) but I'm really glad you're still reading this because then I'm not wasting my time :P Enjoy the chapter and review :)

"_I've become a simple souvenir of someone's kill, and like the sea, I'm constantly changing from calm to hell. Madness fills my heart and soul as if the great divide could swallow me whole, oh, how I'm breaking down"_

"_**Sleeping Sickness"**__—City and Colour_

**Cato**

A drop of blood trickles slowly down my arm from the small cut that's reopened on my shoulder. It's so minor that the nurses don't bother treating it. They barely give it a second glance before drilling me with questions and trying to jog my brain with memories I don't give a fuck about. All I can feel is the irritating cut. It's miniscule, but it still stings…it's a sensation enough to keep my mind trained on so I can block out all other thoughts.

Not that I can think, anyway. With the strangers trying to feed me lies about the Capitol and the "implanted" emotions I've supposedly acquired, my brain has been stuffed into a blender, set on high, set to explode after it's reached a certain amount of questions.

_What do you remember from the Games?_

_How do you feel about the Capitol?_

_What had happened to you while you were detained?_

_Can you tell us any information about Snow's plans?_

And then, the question that never fails to trigger the faint memories of aching flesh; _Who do you really support, Cato? _As if I hadn't heard it enough over the past week.

Sometimes, I want to reply "To the Capitol." I want to give every hopeful and anxious face crowding my vision a brutal slap of reality—that their side will never win this fight and the rebellion is pointless when the Capitol will never release its powerful grip on them. Something inside of me wants to see their expressions weakened with disappointment, stabbed with misery, because they're traitors—all of them.

They can give me medicine or lies, inject more poison in me or tell me fables about my life, but I won't give them what they want. Who the hell do they expect me to be? Supportive of the rebellion? A _traitor_ to the Capitol like them? Pathetic.

But not half as bad as the girl from District Twelve.

Her desperate voice was almost painful to listen to, especially right after waking up and finding myself in District Thirteen. The only thing I was capable of doing was staring at her, part of me wanting to believe her and the other part stubbornly refusing to remember.

_No, _a raspy voice in my head whispers, and I shudder at the sound of it. _She doesn't deserve this attention, she doesn't deserve to be here, and she's worse than all of the traitors in this place combined._

Another surge of anger courses through my veins when I remember how lamely I had reacted. Only because my brain was still fragmented, of course.

_You were drugged. It wasn't as if you could just react so soon and snap her neck right after waking up. _

It would have been the sensible thing to do, though. I should have killed her right then to dispose of her. Who knows when I'll get another chance? The doctors here have me restrained as if I'm about to set fire to their whole District.

A door opens and breaks me from my thoughts. I groan internally when I see another doctor standing by the doorway, notepad and pen in one hand, syringe in another.

She's different from the usual doctor, though. She has ash blonde hair that's pulled away from her face in a simple braid and pale blue eyes which look slightly weary as she takes in my appearance—sallow skin, bruises, and tangled hair.

"Cato," she says with an obviously forced smile, "how do you feel?"

I don't reply. I take a seething breath and try to settle my nerves. Maybe today won't end up like yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before, where the doctor had mercilessly jabbed a needle into my arm to subdue me because of my "emotional instability".

The new doctor casts an almost sympathetic look over me before placing the notepad down on a nearby desk. "We're going to skip the questions today."

I lift my head up at the news. No questions. What the hell is that supposed to mean? "Like I fucking care," I growl, though curiosity burns through my mind. No questions. Does that mean they think I'm _progressing?_

She barely flinches. "I think you do care," she says, "You feel out of place, don't you? You want the pressure to be lifted. You want us to stop asking you questions that you don't know the answers to."

The voice inside my mind hisses with anger. I stare at her, and finally get my tongue working, "You have no right to decide—"

"I've been observing your attitude lately," she says, "It wasn't hard to see how much they've changed you." She cracks another sad smile, one that looks like it's already been broken and then clumsily mended. "I'm just here to do my job."

"I don't need medicine or whatever the hell you're giving me," I glare, "I'm fine."

She tucks a graying strand of hair behind her ear and stands up a little straighter. A wrinkle creases her forehead when she frowns, "Don't lie to yourself."

I let out a short, caustic laugh, "_Everyone's _lying. But I'm not when I say I. Don't. Need. Help."

For a moment a flicker of defiance appears, reminding me of something familiar.

"It isn't up for you to decide," she grimaces before slowly taking a few steps toward me. "And it isn't my decision either. I—I can't say this will make things better, or that it will fix you. No, it will probably do the opposite. So I'm not here to fight or make promises. You'll just have to accept this."

I open my mouth to retort, but freeze when I realize that her hand holding the syringe is only millimeters away from my forearm. I give her an unwavering glare, "Why are you subduing me again?" She hasn't asked me any questions, so I haven't yelled back any answers or attempted to kill her. Well, not yet, anyway. "You can't just drug me!" I growl in the most threatening voice I can manage. I struggle against the restraints and flex my wrists, trying to break free of them. They only seem to tighten.

She gives me a semi-apologetic look before pushing the needle and its contents into my arm. I jerk backwards involuntarily when an icy sensation mingles into my veins. The familiar coldness numbs every part of my body until only my mind is left actively wondering what they're doing this time. Searching through my non-existent memories? Killing me slowly?

A part of me believes that the latter would be the best future for me. What good is it to be alive, yet locked up and interrogated every day? If this is only the beginning, if I'm already buried alive with nothing but empty space and gaps in my head, tearing at my conscience every second of the day….I should be dead—literally. I should be freed from having to see these faces hovering around the edges of my vision every day and freed from being drugged every time I try to strangle someone. Maybe it really is best if they just kill me.

There's nothing left of this life anyway.

I entertain the half-crazed thought for another minute until my mind begins to mist over and my thoughts become less coherent. The drug must finally be taking effect. My eyelids grow heavy until all I can see are horizontal slits, where a weak light seeps into my vision.

But right when I start to finally away, a distant voice floats from my left…the nurse, I think. Her words are puzzling and for a moment I want to force myself to fight against the drug, just to wake up and ask her what she had meant. Instead, I allow my eyes to close firmly shut to block out the lingering voice, to get rid of the lie, to never have to remember those words…

"I know that you're stronger than they are."

_._

.

**Katniss**

Prim sits next to me in the comfortable silence, reading from a thick packet of paper that Thirteen has issued to all children between the ages of seven and fourteen. It summarizes the history of Panem in a few paragraphs, the violence and long-term effects of the Games (obviously implying _if _you survive) in two pages, and the rest of the packet—17 more pages—is a detailed report about the rebellion and how it could dramatically change our futures. Gale calls it education. I call it brainwashing.

The good kind, of course. At least this isn't Snow promoting the Games, or Effie festively wishing everyone good luck killing each other. This is real and this is true.

"This is putting me to sleep," Prim mumbles next to me.

I take a long, sideways glance at her bored expression. She sighs before continuing, "I don't get why we really need to learn this. We're obviously here only because we support them. It's like they're afraid that the _children _of all people will turn against them."

"Coin's just making sure you understand the importance of this all," I reason, careful not to imply any criticism.

She tosses the packet on the floor, muttering something about Coin being a "freaky vulture". I stifle a laugh and try to look stern, "You're supposed to be done with reading that by tomorrow."

"They'll never know," she shrugs, and I suppress another smile. "Anyway…." Her blue eyes spark with interest as she turns towards me, "There's something I wanted to ask you."

"And what's that?" I ask casually, but feel oddly uncomfortable with the intrigued expression she has on her face. Uh-oh. A curious Prim. This can't be good.

"Why was Finnick with you last week?"

"That was nothing," I say easily, though it isn't completely true.

She pouts, "C'mon Katniss. You never used to keep secrets from me."

"I'm not keeping secrets," I say defensively, though with an unmistakable twinge of guilt. Then I sigh. "Okay, I suppose there _was _something else he was implying," I say dryly. "He thought Gale was more than just my friend. Except he treated it all like it was a game and wanted to win by getting the truth."

"He thought you and Gale…_oh._"

I nod miserably, "I seriously hate it when people just assume things."

"Well…do you?"

I turn to her with annoyance, "Do I what?"

"Like Gale more than—"

"_No._ You know I don't."

"I know, but—"

"There's no one that I like! No one that I ever _will _like in that sort of way. I don't chase after boys and have silly little crushes. Gale is my best friend, Peeta was just a way to win sponsors, Finnick was being annoying and curious and Cato was—" I freeze mid-rant, and Prim's eyes suddenly grow large with interest.

I search for a way to describe whatever exists between Cato and I, but I can't find a way to dismiss it as insignificant.

"What about Cato?" Prim prompts.

"He was a way to keep me safe from President Snow," I say, "I had to fake the whole relationship to keep Panem happy, which would keep Snow happy too."

"Hang on," Prim says. Her eyes are screwed shut in concentration. She lets out a huff of annoyance and the soft strands of hair falling across her face flutter outwards for a moment, before her eyes fly back open.

"Then why did you request him be brought back?" she asks.

Oh, no, this conversation is becoming more and more like the one I had with Finnick.

"It doesn't make sense," she paces around the room, "You shouldn't care about him. You told me it was all just to 'keep you safe', so why?" She folds her arms across her chest coolly, reminding me of Cato's stance. Casual, assertive, and defensive. She fixes me with a naive, blue-eyed stare. But she's digging. I can tell. "Why did you demand to have him back?"

"Because I—it wasn't fair that—" I stammer, and stop when I realize what I'm doing. I'm lying _again. _Not only is it a terrible lie, but I feel extremely guilty for looking at my sister and keeping her from knowing the truth about something I care about. I _hate _hiding from my own sister.

My mind begins to reel if I wonder how much I can trust her. She wouldn't tell anyone else, would she? Prim has always been loyal to me, but then again, I've never had to tell her anything as new and terrifying as this. Would she be too innocent and want to get _help _for me instead? Or would she faithfully keep it all to herself?

And then I wonder why I'm even afraid in the first place. The fear of having people know my thoughts is beyond irrational, yet it's strong enough to keep me dead silent. Is it because of my fear that they'll be judgmental? That they'll be disappointed in me for considering something as absurd as feelings for another person, especially in the middle of a rebellion and especially with _him _of all people?

Not that there is a bond anymore. He's gone, so can't I just retreat to my dark corner, alone with secret? No one should ever have to know what happened. There's no point anyway...not anymore.

But I shouldn't be a coward and back down now. Prim's seen me as a role model even through my worst times. She watched me in the Games and never lost hope, so she should learn the truth.

I breathe in tightly and rush out the words before the voice can persuade me to do otherwise. "Maybe I lied a little when I told you everything was all for show," I say quickly, but stop short from exactly what I want to say.

Panic alarms sound off through my head and I stare at the ground, at the walls, anywhere but her eyes which are probably still widened with surprise.

After a stunned silence, she asks "You're saying it was real?"

"I never said it was real," I blanch at the thought of all the sappy episodes we had to film, "But I've learned that he isn't what everyone thinks he is, and I've been seeing him differently ever since."

"So it's him."

She didn't ask a question—she made a statement, leaving me with no way to properly respond.

"You and…_him?_" she repeats in utter disbelief.

I swallow thickly before nodding. "I know it's weird, but it just _happened_. It's hard to explain. He's not all bad, he just thinks differently than we do.…" I stop when I remember what had happened only a few days ago. "I understand if you don't like him," I say quietly, "it's because of everything you've seen him do. He isn't like that, though."

"No, I just can't…I can't…" she begins, and opens her mouth to say something else. Then she snaps it shut, closes her eyes and shakes her head with determination.

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"You care about _him. _He's a monster, Katniss! He killed all those kids, he betrayed you, he—"

"Stood up for what was right in the end," I finish. "Remember the interview?"

"Okay, so maybe he's better than he was before, but look at his past!" she exclaims.

"The past isn't what's important," I grind out, trying not to become frustrated. "I told you he's different."

She looks at me doubtfully, "Yeah, but still, how could you even…"

"It wasn't as if I could control how I felt!"

"He's a Career—"

"And sometimes I wish it hadn't been him of all people," I add.

"It's disturbing—"

"But it happened anyway," I finish, and there's an awkward silence where I stare down at my hands, wishing there was an easier way to explain this to Prim. How do I tell my little sister about something so confusing and new as feelings toward someone else?

"Look, I don't know how to make this clearer, but the only reason I care about him is because I've seen what he's really like. He's a good person. You believe me, right?" I say desperately.

She studies me critically, not speaking. I feel like I've officially made myself vulnerable. I've never told her anything about having emotions, only staying strong for her and everyone else. It must be hard for her to hear me confess something so random and bizarre.

"I…guess so," she finally relents, though she still stares at me as if I've lost my mind. "Even though it's hard to, I—I do believe you. You sound like you know what you're doing."

I smile weakly and she replies with a small shake of her head. "Still crazy though," she says under her breath.

"Now that you believe me, you have to promise me you won't mention this to anyone else," I say. "Also promise that you won't talk to me about this again."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to think about him. I've managed not to over the past week and now that I have it makes me feel confused, and I don't like it."

"I've barely asked you any questions yet, and you're making me promise not to talk to you about him?"

"Exactly."

She sighs reluctantly before nodding. "Fine, I'll stay quiet."

"Thanks," I smile in relief, "You don't know how good it feels to finally let that out."

"You probably should have talked to someone before you told me," she reprimands.

"No one would've understood," I shake my head, "I'm thankful that at least you do."

.

The never ending meetings make my head swim and wonder how I got dragged into this. Oh, right, I got myself into this with my "rebellious acts" that everyone here soaks up with regained enthusiasm, now that they've seen the face of hope.

According to Coin, we must "Strike with not revenge, but liberty as our motivation. The future is in our hands and every step must be executed with detail and caution… We cannot let down our guard. We must always be on high alert and prepared to fight at any moment."

Somehow, I can't see it happening.

Gale keeps telling me not to be so pessimistic. He says that so far we've stood up to the seventy-fourth Hunger Games, I've escaped the Capitol, and Eight is preparing for a full-scale rebellion. There are a few small uprisings in some of the other districts too, but at the moment, everyone's focus is on Eight.

I, however, can come up with a cons list much longer than Gale's list.

The Capitol's forces are at least three times larger and more technologically advanced than ours are. Snow is after my blood. Cato has come back demented and practically dead. The conditions in the outer districts have worsened. The Capitol is still continuing with their plan of having the Quarter Quell, of course, and we don't know what to expect. They've also taken harsh measures to forcefully subdue the mini outbreaks. People are dying of starvation because of the lack of commerce, since the Capitol has not-so-secretly shut down the inter-district transportation lines.

The most troubling issue is that we have made no actual plans on attacking the Capitol so far, which is the only thing I want to do. I want Snow's mansion to burn down to ashes. I want to hear his last plea of mercy, and I want to be the one to reject it.

Yes, it's quite the dream.

So maybe I do pay attention during conferences. It's just that I have the habit of filtering out every idea Coin proposes. I only hear the bad news she presents. Somehow it's relieving to hear about other issues rather than my personal ones, no matter how selfish it sounds.

I've shut down the part of my brain that used to belong to hope of being with him. The only time I've really talked about him since he's arrived was the day I admitted everything to Prim. Since then, I've made sure to banish all memories and traces of him from my mind. It's too distracting. It gives me the feeling of being lifted up into the clouds, closer and closer to the heavens, and then just inexplicably dropped down until I sink into the depths of black unknown waters. I _have _to get rid of this feeling of drowning...of suffocation.

I've also managed to avoid Prim's surreptitious glances and questioning eyes so far. But two whole days is all I get before we have time together again. This time I don't have an excuse to be somewhere. I'm left alone with Prim who is nearly bursting with questions, although her lips are tightly pursed thanks to the warning glares I've been sending her. She just pets Buttercup tranquilly by the short window, staring out at the rocky ground and tapping her foot gently to a tune she's humming.

And finally, she breaks.

"Can I ask—"

"No," I immediately shake my head already knowing what she'll ask, and she frowns.

"But you didn't even—" she protests.

"Prim, please," I say, "I don't want to talk about it."

"I _know _you don't, but isn't it good to talk about these sort of things?" she pesters.

"Wish it were," I mumble. All talking seems to do is bring back memories that I know don't exist anymore.

"All I want is—"

"You promised."

"Listen to me, Katniss!" she says with wide, pleading eyes. "Just for today?"

I hesitate and weigh out the pros and cons before nodding in consent. "Okay. Just say what you want to say and we'll drop it."

"Ok, well, I was only going to ask how he reacted when you went to see him," she wonders.

I shudder at the memory of his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a vice. But it was nothing compared to the chilly death threat that hung in the air when he looked at me with those clouded eyes, showing nothing but fierce hate.

"Changed," is all I say, and even though it's only one word, my damn voice still trembles.

Prim is quiet and turns back to the window, stroking the spot between Buttercup's ears. "What happened, then?"

_What happened? _I mentally repeat the question to myself.

Beetee's scientific lecture did nothing to explain why Cato reacted how he did. All I know is what the Capitol did. They sucked out all of the hope that could have existed within him, every last particle of _good, _and ripped it all apart into shreds.

"They made him think that I was the enemy," I say, "According to Beetee he's been desensitized to his surroundings."

"Oh," Prim says crestfallen. "I was hoping…"

"Yeah. I know," I stare out the grimy window with determination.

A long silence passes before she speaks again.

"I think you need to try and talk to him."

"Are you crazy?" I instantly sputter, "He hates me. _Hates _me. He doesn't even know me anymore. Do you honestly think I'd _want _to speak to him again or ever see him again?" I make my words sound as careless as I can.

She stares fully into my eyes, "Yes."

"_No._"

"Don't tell me you don't think about him anymore," she argues. "You do, right?"

I shake my head, "I don't."

But again, I'm lying.

I've tried my hardest to expel everything related to him from my thoughts, but I still think about him every day. I think about his sarcastic comments, his stubborn hair and his knowing smirks. His genuine (and rare) smiles and his deep voice that had once sang me a thank-you. Even his scent is still present in my mind—something of pine trees, and subtle cologne. It's all him and I can't get his damn presence out of my head.

"Katniss…I'm just trying to help you," she says softly. "I like seeing you happy. If he really does make you happy then you should go."

"I never said he 'made me happy'" I mutter with annoyance.

"But you still care," she reminds me.

I turn to Prim and for the second time since I've been back, I wonder how much she's really grown while I was gone. Seemingly years.

"Go see him. He's probably different now that he's had a week to cool off. Talk to him and then thank me later," she says before leaving the room, Buttercup trotting out after her.

I stare at my mother's spare hospital key card lying on the dresser and wonder if I really could just go by and visit. Would anyone try to stop me? Probably not, since all that's needed is the key. My mother probably wouldn't worry so much, though of course, I'd never tell her. The work here seems to be slowly fixing her. She doesn't need the stress of knowing that I'm using her hospital ID to visit a potentially dangerous patient.

Then…there's the fact that I actually want to go. Common sense tells me not to because I don't want to keep sinking in the black water, yet the desire to see him again and help him is too great. I can't stay like this any longer. I have to face him like how I faced the reality of admitting the truth to Prim. This cannot wait any longer.

Without any more hesitation, I throw on a grey sweater, grab the card and slip out of the compartment with fresh determination and confidence.

.

.

**Cato**

I slowly reach out with my left hand, testing the space in front of me. Clear. I take a step forward and inch my hand closer to the door. Still nothing happens. I take another step with my arm out in front of me and I feel the rope cut into my ankle, telling me this is the farthest I can walk. I decide to lean forward, my fingers outstretched when _ZAP!_

Fuck, so it _is _a force field. I quickly draw my hand back and look at my singed nails, though I barely feel anything.

I wonder what would happen if I fully ran into it. Would I just die a quick and painless death? Would it be easier just to get it over with now?

_Yes, that would be an excellent decision, Cato, _the shadow that lurks in the corner of my mind slithers into my ears.

Unfortunately, there's still the damn cord wrapped around my ankle and impossible to break off. If I could just cut it or slip it off, then everything would be so much easier. I'm having a hard time believing that these people are on my side. First they inject me with random liquids, then they place me in a fucking cell and then they deny me of the opportunity to kill myself.

_They hate you. No one here cares about your fate. _

My fists curl again and before I realize what I'm really doing, I punch the wall next to me once, twice, three times, four…

I start to lose count as the wall becomes everyone in this District. The Coin lady, the doctor, the other doctor who whispered tales of deceit, and the Twelve girl.

I don't feel anything as blood begins to drip from my knuckles which are splitting open from the incessant pounding. Just numbness. But that's fine, because a strange feeling of satisfaction, or something like it, washes over me when I see the faces becoming distorted…bloodied and bruised as my fists are…just like they should be.

I grin when I look at the work I've done. It's really incredible, how all they needed was some punishment to set them straight. Who's in charge now?

_You are. You have power and authority, but most importantly, you have control._

A buzzing noise jerks me from my thoughts and I turn around to see that the door has opened.

It's the Twelve girl.

_Kill her! Slice her limbs and spill her blood! _The voice immediately screams.

She passes through the force field without receiving a single shock, of course it's only because she doesn't have this fucking liquid running through her veins. _Her _body doesn't convulse on the ground with a thousand jolts of electricity when it touches the wall.

My first instinct when she steps into the room is to listen to my shadow. I should slam her onto the ground and kill her, like I had promised. I want her blood on the ground, her screams echoing off these walls, her broken body to be buried in this hell. Not mine.

Of course, it's impossible to do so with the restraint on my ankle. She's shied away from the door into the opposite corner, eying me almost fearfully. She's smart though. She doesn't come any closer, and instead her back remains pressed against the farthest corner of the room away from me. I can't reach her there.

I growl in frustration. When I speak, my voice sounds oddly like the one in my head. Only quieter. "What are you doing here?"

A short pause, before she says, "I—I wanted to talk to you." She swallows and stands up straighter, smoothing out her crinkled, much too big sweater. "We need to talk, Cato."

And I want to rip her throat when she says my name, but she's still too far.

Damn it! Why is she still staring at me like she's waiting for something? Doesn't the piece of scum understand? I don't give a damn about her beliefs or memories!

_You should definitely get her out of your way when you have the chance, _he says, and I mentally reply in agreement,

Yes, of course. Except I can't fucking do anything, can I?

_Get her closer, _he commands, and I squirm in disgust.

No.

_You must kill her now, before she spreads the disease of Revolution._

But..why?

_Because that is your purpose. It is what you are born to do. Slay the beast, Cato. Slay that horrible beast that spreads lies and promises of freedom._

"How do you feel?" she asks tentatively, though she still remains in the corner.

"Better than I've ever felt before," is my reply.

**AN: **Once I realized I reached 5,000 words, I decided to stop, so sorry for the random ending. I'm also sorry about the fact that there's barely any Cato/Katniss interaction in this chapter, but I promise that the next one will only be focused on them.

Thoughts on Prim would be nice. I tried to make her more mature than the clichéd "Oh Katniss! I'm so little and cute!" because I'm pretty sure normal people around the age of 13/14 wouldn't be close to acting like that. However, I did try to keep her natural innocence and kind-spiritedness.

Opinions on Cato would also be helpful too, though I admit I'm a bit scared on what you think. He's been through a lot. Suzanne Collins would definitely disapprove of how much I'm abusing her characters..But he did just come back from hell the Capitol, so he's currently in the worst state possible.

Anyway, that's all for now. Thanks for reading…oh, and review please! The more reviews, the more motivation, the faster I can write, blah blah, you know the drill. Ok. -Y


	28. Whitewashed Illusions

**AN: **I'm a lousy updater, I know. But guess what? I feel like I'm finally getting into the main plot of the story (and I know you all are saying 'what do you mean? THIS IS MAHOGANY. I had to read twenty seven chapters until she finally got to the actual story?!') Basically everything up to this point has been the buildup. This is where the plot begins to reflect the title and the whole theme. So I'm excited :D …for angst. Out of all things to make me excited this week it's Catoniss angst. This is why I have problems.

Title inspiration for this chapter came from the song _Illusion_ (lyrics are below) so definitely check it out if you don't know it. It's really good.

_Please don't go, I want you to stay. I'm begging you please, please don't leave here. I don't want you to hate for all the hurt you feel. The world is just illusion, trying to change you._

"_**Illusion" –**__VNV Nation_

**Katniss**

I absently run my thumb down the edge of the card, pacing in front of the door marked _213 A. _Why can't I just slide the card into the scanner and step in? Why can't I just open the door and talk to him?

An uncomfortable sensation takes root in my stomach. It shoots up to my head and makes my thoughts spiral recklessly around my brain. I shouldn't feel this pressured. It's just a visit, after all. Just a confirmation of what I already suspect.

The gnawing feeling in my stomach only increases. My thoughts spin faster.

What do I do?

Am I really here to check on him?

Or… am I trying to help him?

What if he doesn't need help?

What if he's fine?

What will I do if he really doesn't remember me?

_CRASH._

I jump a little and stare at the door. My palms begin to sting and I look down to see that I've gripped the card so tightly, the edges have dug into my hands.

_CRASH._

I flinch again as the door trembles slightly at the sudden impact from whatever happened on the other side of the room. Was that really—

_CRASH._

I focus on the white door in front of me with curiosity. If only I could just stare straight through it and know what's going on…

One more resounding thud sets my mind with a newfound determination. I don't think twice before sliding the card and opening the door, noticing force field right before I step inside.

But it isn't the normal kind. Instead of shimmering a golden color, there's almost a green tinge to it. I distinctly remember Coin telling us about these. They're only used for prisoners who have had a special sort of substance injected in their bloodstream, which will instantly electrify them if their body comes in contact with the force field. I should be fine.

I step through the airwaves and allow my eyes to adjust in the dimness of the room. Why is it so dark? I cautiously take another few steps forward, ignoring the warning that simmers in the air, before I see him.

He stands by the badly dented wall on the opposite side. His tousled blond hair is illuminated by the faint glow of the ceiling light and just the sight of him makes me shiver. I scan the rest of him, something in me having a strong desire to memorize him, but forget him at the same time. To forget _this._

The rest of him looks no better. His fist is red and raw from punching it, his breaths are heavy and labored, and his legs tremble as if they can no longer support him even though he's lost at least thirty pounds—but that isn't what scares me.

When his head snaps up, the eyes that meet mine are savage. They're dark with circles from lack of sleep and glare with malice. A slow dreadful anchor begins to sink lower into my stomach. He looks almost _predatory_, as if he's about to murder me. I retreat back into the corner as far from him as possible.

For a tense moment we only stare at each other, me in my corner and he in his. I try to burn into his pale blue eyes and search for something other than the incredible amount of anger. It's been there before, of course, but now…after seeing actual kindness…now this looks unfamiliar, especially when it's all directed at me. It almost makes me wonder what I've done to deserve this sudden hatred before I quickly remember that none of this is my fault.

To my surprise, he breaks the silence first. His cold voice rings out through the stale air. "What are you doing here?"

I open my mouth to reply but no sound comes out. No, no, no, this was not how I imagined this to go. He isn't supposed to be calm! I'm not supposed to be nervous! I'm supposed to help him sort things out!

I stand up a little straighter and smooth out the front of my sweater. "I—I wanted to talk to you." I say, but wince when I realize how strange that might sound to him. "_We_ need to talk, Cato," I correct myself.

His fists clench and a few drops of blood glisten on his knuckles. I nervously look at his ankle to see how far he could possibly walk out. Not very far.

When he doesn't reply, I try a different approach. "How do you feel?" I say each word slowly to keep him from snapping, though I still keep my eyes on the restraint in case in somehow breaks.

"Better than I've ever felt before," he replies icily.

"Don't lie to me," I say, "I'm just trying to help—"

"I don't want your help!" he hisses, "Don't any of you people understand? All anyone does is ask me what I remember and what side I'm loyal to and they won't leave!"

"Look, there's no need to get angry just because I'm here to talk," I say with determination, "So stop yelling."

I exhale slowly and remind myself that he's only like this because of the Capitol. It isn't his fault—it's their fault. He doesn't mean what he says.

And maybe to prove it to myself, I say "This isn't you."

He ignores me and crosses his arms, staring at the wall he'd just abused. His jaw is set and a strange light dances in his eyes. I start to doubt that my words will have any effect on him.

"You've been changed," I continue hesitantly, "If you just try to remember what things were like before you were t-tortured by the Capitol, maybe you can change back."

"This is what I am," he says monotonously, as if reciting lines. "It's what I have to be."

"No it isn't. _Listen to me._ All I ask is that you try to remember—"

"There's nothing to remember!"

"Because you're pushing it all away!"

"And why wouldn't I push it away?" he sneers coldly.

"Because," I struggle with my answer, "You shouldn't be proud of what you've become." Then an idea hits me. He may have lost his desire to remember, but he can't have lost his desire for winning. "Aren't you a victor? If you are, then show them that you can beat them at this game!"

"This isn't a game!" he yells with rage, and he struggles against the rope binding him to his prison. "You think you can control everything, huh? You think you're so powerful? Face it, Twelve. You can't change anything!"

"I know I probably can't at this point, but if I can't do anything about it then you better damn do it yourself! You will _not _sit around and let this…disease take over!"

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" he demands. "If you know what's good for you—"

"What's good for me? Do you know how much good could possibly result in me leaving you here? None!"

"Then why are you helping me?"

"Because that's what we do! We help each other!"

"You're lying!" his steel eyes flash, "I would _never _help someone like…like you!"

"Someone like me?" I ask, slightly taken aback by the familiar phrase. Because apparently, we're all somebodies, that much is true. Just different ones.

"Someone like me," I repeat, and find him glaring at me again.

"Do you need any more explanation?" he asks cruelly. "I could elaborate, if you'd like. You see, a person like you, Twelve, is like a virus. They enter a system and fuck everything up until everyone's lives are ruined and people start to go insane, and the world no longer makes sense."

"How could you—"

"Just shut up! Your voice is enough to make me want to kill myself!" he interrupts, "So. Once the virus is done fucking things up then it starts spreading to everyone else. And now everyone else is a virus! It's spreading like fire! But you know what?" he gives a hollow laugh, "I don't anyone's help because I know it's all you."

"You're not making any sense," I narrow my eyes at him.

"I'm immune," he says in a low voice, "You can't infect me. You can't infect me because I'm already gone, Twelve, and I'm done."

After he throws out the last word, there's nothing but the sound of our breaths echoing off the walls and ricocheting into the darkness. My breathing from shock, his from anger.

"Is that really what you think?" I ask, trying to keep my voice flat.

"It's what I _know._"

"F-fine then…if that's true…" I lift my chin and try to control my breathing, though it's impossible, like there are hundreds of snakes coiling around me and suffocating me. Why can't I breathe?

"Then you're right. I can't help you," I almost give him a pitiful look, but I'm too distracted by trying to inhale enough oxygen. It feels as if the room is slowly being deflated, like the walls are closing in and suffocating me.

I blink rapidly and stride towards the exit. Before I reach for the door, I turn around to look at him one last time. He's still angry, I can tell. Trembling, almost…

I shake my head and lean against the door, using my body weight to push it open. Then I stumble out into the hallway and take a great lungful of oxygen. Why is it still so hard to breathe? I lean my head against the wall and feel my legs giving away until I crash onto the ground. There's no difference between in there and out here. He'll still be in my mind anyway.

The white wall across from me stares back tauntingly; a reminder of how separated Cato and I really are. How can a plain hospital wall wrench us apart so easily? Maybe that's why it's becoming harder to breathe. Knowing that he's so physically close to me, yet in a different perspective, mentally.

It's a divider that I can't fight, no matter how hard I try to knock it down.

**Cato**

_You let her get away. Unharmed. _His voice is full of disgust, and I shiver.

Shut up. You've said enough already.

_This is for your own good. You say you're immune to her, but I can still feel something in you. I don't like it. You will get rid of this, do you understand?_

Get rid of what? There's nothing but you in my head.

_You're wrong. There's still something else. A little part of your mind is struggling to try, like that Virus said, to remember. _

No! There's no way possible that I'll listen to her and try to remember.

I dig my nails into my palms and walk the short distance back to the wall. I try leaning on it for stability, but my legs start shaking again.

_You're weak, _the voice whispers.

I grimace in pain and try to remain standing. It's no use. After another minute my legs give away and I crash onto the floor. So much for trying to prove him wrong.

I lean my head back against the wall. White. All I see is white, but it isn't even a color…it's just…blank. Nothing is here, only something that's wrong and uncaring. The bare walls, the tiled floors, and even the thin clothes I'm wearing. The dull clinical light that shines from the ceiling is white. The mat and pillow in the corner are white. My vision is completely washed away.

What happened to the color? I try to remember the last time I had seen something…vivid. Ever since I've arrived here, everything was either grey, black or white.

No, wait. Twelve. She was wearing color, wasn't she? Little flashes of red and a soft creamy color.

_Red? You must mean blood. That's the only red on her that would ever make sense._

No, it was her clothing.

_Yes, her clothing will be drenched with it._

And her hair had color too. It looked almost like dark chocolate.

_It was black. Her hair was black like the death that will consume her._

Her skin was slightly tan, with almost an olive tint to it.

_And it will be marred from the wounds of battle._

Her lips looked berry-red. That's another color.

_They too will be smeared in the juice of nightlock._

Her eyes were…

_White and emptied of life like they should be. _

No, they were grey. That means they're a color.

I stare miserably at the wall opposite of me and wrap my arms around my knees, curling up to keep the cold away. I wonder if it's warm on the other side of the wall. Or it's colorful there, too. Maybe Twelve is out there, radiant and powerful with her dark chocolate hair and strawberry lips.

_Stop thinking about her. You can't share your mind with both of us._

But what if I don't really want him in my head anymore? What if she can offer me something better than he can?

_But that's impossible, Cato. No one here cares about you but me._

* * *

**Katniss**

"Katniss," Prim smiles as she sets her tray down on the table and sits next to me. "How did it go?"

I send her a warning look and she peers around me, noticing Gale. "Oh," she laughs nervously, "Hi Gale."

He raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

"It went…badly," I say to her in a low voice. Luckily, the chatter in the cafeteria is loud enough to block out most of our conversation. "He hasn't changed at all."

I glumly spear an innocent piece of broccoli. What did I expect, anyway? For him to be recovered? For him to call me a…friend, or whatever I used to be?

"I'm sorry," Prim says sympathetically.

"Why?"

"Because. I know how much this meant to you," she says.

"What are you two talking about?" Gale speaks up.

"Uh, girl problems," Prim lies easily. "Nothing you want to know, Gale. Turn around now," she smiles cheerfully.

"Ah, if it isn't the lovely Mockingjay!" an annoyingly perfect voice rings out from nearby. I groan; it's Finnick again.

"Ah, if it isn't my unofficial stalker!" I reply sardonically.

Finnick's alacrity slowly fades away, leaving his typical, too-confident smirk. A bitter pang hits my chest when I remember who else used to walk around with that confidence.

"Someone's gotta do the job," he pushes Prim away and sidles between us.

"What are you doing here?" I roll my eyes and lift my cup of water to my lips to wash down the sticky taste of vegetable broth in my throat. The combination of unsettling food, unpleasant memories of last night, and Finnick's insatiable desire to know about my life makes me feel sick.

"Why is she acting so frumpy?" Finnick frowns. "Is it…that time of the month, Kat?"

I abruptly choke on my water.

"So _that's_ what you meant by 'girl problems'," Gale makes a face.

Prim leans over to pat my back as I splutter and cough some more.

"I see," Finnick muses.

"She's always like this. You get used to it," Gale says informatively.

"That's very kind of you, Gale," I snap, and he chuckles.

"Finnick, I have a question," Prim thankfully changes the topic.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…why are you here?" she asks thoughtfully, "I mean, why would you move all the way from District Four, or from whatever fancy place you used to live in, just to come here? It's _boring _here."

"You're a smart one. Beginning to sound a lot like your sister, you know?" he winks. "I came here for a few reasons. But the main one was because I came for the cause."

"What do you mean?"

"I came for the Mockingjay," he replies. He lowers his voice to a whisper as he says, "We don't want that half bald, rosy faced lunatic to take over the world, so why sit around and do nothing when you can start a revolution and raise hell?"

Gale cracks a smile, "Pretty accurate," he comments.

"Thanks," Finnick grins back.

Prim giggles, "Alright, then here's to saving the world from a creepy lunatic," she lifts her paper cup. Finnick and Gale to the same.

"And ridding our land of barbaric Games," Finnick adds.

"And fighting a hundred and ten percent to change things," Gale contributes.

I finally raise mine too, "And to murdering the man who caused all this pain," I say. Images of screaming, running, fighting, ripping tearing crying hurting begging suffering falling failing. Here's to the death of the man who killed Cato.

Prim and Finnick look at me skeptically, but shrug it off. Gale almost looks proud of me.

"Cheers," Prim says happily, and we nod in agreement. I down the rest of my drink. The coolness of the water makes my throat feel slightly better, but it's only temporary relief. Soon I start to thirst for more, and my stomach churns uncomfortably.

"Are you okay?" Prim asks for the second time today. She still sparkles with laughter, but I can see concern laced in her eyes. It almost looks wrong— to have someone so young so worried about me. This isn't right. I can't stress her out with my own problems.

I nod and try to give a believable smile, "I'm fine, Prim."

**AN: **Hmm. I don't really have much to say other than; review please?


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